When the Shoe Fits
by Red Chucks
Summary: A Booshy take on the Cinderella story. I'll just apologise now. Sorry.
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a tiny kingdom, peaceful, prosperous and rich in romance and magic. Here in a stately chateau there lived a widowed gentleman, Lord Bryan Ferry, and his young son, Vincent. Although he was a kind and devoted father who gave his beloved child every luxury and comfort, still he felt the little boy needed a mother's care and so he married again, choosing for his second wife a woman of good family, or so he thought, with two daughters just Vincent's own age, by name Anthrax and Ebola. For a short while it seemed that life might improve for the lonely Lord and his son but Mr Ferry soon learned the danger of falling for a woman who seemed too good to be true. No sooner had her position been solidified than the veneer of upstanding gentlewoman was dropped to reveal the devilish creature beneath.

...

_"__My dearest Lady," Bryan sighed, turning to hand his wife a flute of champagne. "Though we have only been married a year, I am already certain that our union shall be a long and fulfilling one." He delicately clinked his glass against hers as she stared up at him with a coquettish smile. _

_"__Indeed," he continued. "There is nothing I would not do for you, or give you. Simply tell me what it is you require of me and it is yours, my love."_

_He was so blinded by love that he did not notice at first how the air appeared to shimmer around his bride. He closed his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her but froze at the sharp sting of a blade against his throat._

_"__Your life'll about cover what I 'require', gov. If you'd be so kind."_

_His eyes opened wide but he was too close to see his attacker clearly. The person who a moment ago had been his handsome wife, was but a blur of green, its mad eyes blazing into his soul before the blade sliced cleanly down through his jugular and across his windpipe. _

_In the last moment before he drifted away from his body and his life, Bryan heard the creature laugh._

_"__And now I'll take your fancy house and your fortune and all your worldly possessions, oh husband of mine. Not a bad years' work, all round, wouldn't you say?"_

_The Lord Ferry sent out a desperate plea, as the blood poured out of him and his soul dissolved back into the ether of the universe, that his poor, sweet Vincent be protected from harm but then, like graphite specks blown from a page, he was dead and gone and the Hitcher, his murderer, smiled._

...

It was upon the untimely death of his father that his step-mother's true nature was revealed to Vincent. The boy, naive and optimistic in nature had naturally trusted his father's judgement and the morning he was greeted with the news of the death of the man who had raised him and that he was now the property of a cruel and deranged man-witch was a grim day indeed. Cold, and conniving, and bitterly jealous of Vincent's charm and beauty, the Hitcher was grimly determined to forward the interests of his own two daughters and gain for them marriages to wealthy lords or ladies to increase his own treasure horde and, sadly, Vincent faced the brunt of his temper and insanity.

Thus as time went by the chateau fell into disrepair as the family fortune was squandered on the desires of the two vain and selfish sisters while young Vincent was abused, humiliated and finally forced to live as a servant in his own house. His wicked step-family took to calling him Noir, for the soot of the chateau's many fireplaces which he was forced to clean each week had stained his hair a glossy black but, as with every insult thrown at him, Vincent turned it to his advantage, adopting the name Vince Noir with a smile that infuriated the Hitcher and endeared him to all he was allowed to meet.

And this is where our story truly begins. For too many years the life of Vince Noir held very little joy or hope and yet, through it all, he remained ever gentle and kind, clinging to simple hopes, namely being given the chance to go out to one of the many balls held at the castle; to dance and talk and laugh and forget the cares that filled his days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh yes, I do not own the characters or concept. This is fan fiction. No profit made.**

**And the song for this chapter is 'Waiting on a friend' by the Rolling Stones.**

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As the sun rose above the distant hills two bluebirds flew toward the tiny attic window of the crumbling chateau, keen to see their favourite human.

"Oi!" one cheeped roughly to his mate. "Stop swooping around like a drunk driver. You're getting all in my peripheries!"

"Stop being such a twit!" chirped the other. "Ha! Twit. That's one of mine! And if you didn't fly like such an old pigeon I wouldn't have to fly circles around you all the time. Now come on! If we don't wake him up he'll sleep 'til midday and then there'll be hell to pay."

"Yeah, yeah," the first bluebird responded. "Just quit flapping near me face, would ya! And grab that curtain!"

The two bluebirds took the curtains in their beaks and drew them aside to flood the tiny room with the new day's sunlight before flying in to chirp and flap around the huddled mound in the middle of the thin bed.

"Come one!" they yelled. "Wake-up sleepy head! Your hair's a tangle and you look a right mess! Watcha want? A kiss for your trouble? This ain't a fairy tale, you know."

They retreated when the huddle of blankets began to wriggle about and moan but it was another minute of two before a head of tangled black hair emerged and with it the thin, angular face of Vince Noir.

"Alright, you two," he croaked, rubbing at his eyes before shooting them a sleepy smile. "Thanks for waking me. I owe you a baguette, yeah?"

"I'd rather a croissant if you've got one," cheeped the first, cocking its head to the side and fluffing its feathers.

"And a latte," whistled the other, and Vince gave a small laugh before agreeing.

"Sure mates, whatever you want. But after I've had my shower yeah? My barnet's a right mess."

Vince climbed out of his nest of threadbare blankets and sheets and stretched his pale limbs in the sunlight. He didn't own pajamas (the Hitcher considered them a luxury that Vince was not entitled to) but he'd long ago learned that there was no point trying to hide his nudity from the birds and mice who were his only friends. They didn't take the hint when he asked for privacy and were a bunch of dirty little perverts really but it was also quite nice, knowing that he was worth looking at. Even if the only ones who liked the view were the household vermin.

He looked over at the floor length mirror he had snuck up to the attic when he'd been banished from his bedroom in the main house. He was thin and pale, undernourished was probably the word, but he had muscle too, from all the work his step-family forced him to do and he liked to think that in the right light, from the right distance, and in the right clothing, his body might be described as lean, or lithe, rather than skinny. He didn't hold out quite so much hope for his face. It was all angles and his nose, the result of too many blows from the Hitcher's fist, took up far too much space in the mottled mirror - and on his face. His step-sisters liked to joke that they kept him in the attic because he so resembled a goblin and that they kept him away from visitors out of fear that his appearance would cause panic. Vince silently feared they were right but smiled when they said so. He was sure he could work the goblin look - with the right accessories.

Vince might not have had a great deal of confidence in his body or face but his hair was a different matter entirely, and he used it as a distraction and a focus puller (and a shield when he felt particularly vulnerable). He knew it was good, genius even, and it was his vanity. Even if life was a bit of a disappointment and he was forced to clean and scrub and cook and run around after his step-sisters, Vince could always rely on his hair to look good. Once it had been washed and styled, that is.

Vince sighed as he walked over to the bathroom alcove of his tiny room. He had always imagined, as a small child, that his life would turn out a bit differently. He loved sparkles and music and dancing and sometimes he still liked to dream that life would change and he'd get a chance to actually enjoy himself.

"Shame you had to wake me," he told the birds with a cheeky grin. "I was havin' the best dream..."

"I'll bet you were, princess," the first bird clucked and Vince chuckled.

"But you don't know what it were about," he said saucily.

The birds rolled their eyes.

"We can guess, Vince," the second said. "You're as subtle as a teenager."

Vince looked down and blushed then ducked quickly behind his shower curtain as the bluebirds sniggered. Birds could be right pricks sometimes.

"I just wish I could..."

"Meet a girl?"

"Get a date?"

"Get laid?"

The birds tittered but stopped when they saw Vince's face fall.

"...meet someone. Make a friend maybe..."

As the birds filled a large sponge with water from jug on Vince's nightstand he gave into the urge to sing which was always simmering away within him. The Hitcher wasn't a fan of music unless it was his daughters making it and while Vince knew he didn't have the greatest voice in the kingdom he knew he could sing here because no one but the animals were around to hear him.

_"__Watching girls go passing by it ain't the latest thing_

_I'm just standing in a doorway._

_I'm just trying to make some sense._

_Out of these girls passing by, the tales they tell of men._

_I'm not waiting on a lady, I'm just waiting on a friend._

_A smile relieves a heart that grieves, remember what I said._

_I'm not waiting on a lady, I'm just waiting on a friend._

_I'm just waiting on a friend just waiting on a friend._

_I'm just waiting on a friend just waiting on a friend._

_Just waiting on a friend._

_Don't need a whore, don't need no booze, don't need a virgin priest._

_But I need someone I can cry to._

_I need someone to protect._

_Ooh, making love and breaking hearts, it's a game for youth._

_But I'm not waiting on a lady._

_I'm just waiting on a friend._

_I'm just waiting on a friend just waiting on a friend._

_I'm just waiting on a friend just waiting on a friend._

_Ooh ooh ooh ooh, yeah..."_

Singing always improved his mood and Vince emerged from the shower with a bounce in his step. Several mice had come to hear him sing and they grinned up at him as he danced across the room in his towel and began to quickly style his hair. As he pointed to various items of clothing they were brought forth by birds and mice and in a matter of minutes he was dressed in an outfit which should have taken an hour or more to put together. The blue tunic and black skinny jeans had been carefully mended and added to over the years he had owned them and while his wardrobe was small he had acquired enough accessories that his outfits never looked the same for more than a week.

He smiled at his reflection in the mirror, hoping that it would help him remember to stay cheerful throughout the day but his peace was spoiled by the loud clang of the town's clock.

"Alright, alright, you round faced freak. I'm coming, shush your lips before you wake up the sisters grim."

He huffed down the rickety stairs and out into the day as the clock continued to clang and crash, ringing in a day like any other.

"When you are da clock, er,

people are always lookin' at your face.

Always lookin' an' pointin' at your face.

But dey never say 'hello'

Dey just read da time an' turn away.

Should I, er, put a poem instead of numbers?

Would dat make dem be my friend?

I'm da clock."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this story isn't great but I'm hoping it will help me out of a writing rut. I'll still finish it though. Then I'll try to write something better.**

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Vince was not particularly adept at cooking, a fact he was reminded of on a regular basis by his masters, but he genuinely enjoyed the first the first part of serving breakfast. This was largely due to the fact that serving breakfast involved feeding the animals in the farmyard. The chateau had lost a great many of its fine horses since Lord Ferry died and had only one cow remaining in its cow shed but there was still the old mare, two dogs, fourteen hens and a cockerel, five geese, six ducks and two drakes, three goats and a bad tempered cat. Not to mention the two dozen mice who called the crumbling mansion home and the countless birds who had made nests in the rafters of the various buildings. Vince knew each by name and spent as long as he felt he could get away with each morning chatting to them and asking after the families and personal problems of his farmyard friends.

On this particular morning the hens brought it to his attention that one of the mice was in a very bad way.

"He's been dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing," they clucked at him, their heads twitching their eyes darting about.

Hens were half-way mad on a good day, Vince knew. On a bad day they would destroy your favourite boots without a thought. He took a step back and tried to figure out who they were talking about.

"Who's been dancing?" he asked in a low, soothing voice. "Gary? Neon? Was it the Scat Rat? Did he get into your coop again last night?"

"No. No. No. No. No. No."

Vince took another step back but tried to hide his nerves. Getting nervous around poultry was dangerous. One wrong move and they'd all start trying to fly and even Vince's coiffure was no match for that kind of feathery hurricane. He looked at the hens carefully. They were edgy all right but Vince though that maybe it was because they were tired and that gave him an idea.

"Was it Jones?" he asked softly. "He been playing his music too loud again? Kept you all awake?"

"Yes! Yes! You call that music? More like devil scratchings. Yes! Jones! What's a Jones? I'm awake. Yes! Where is the sleep? Yes!"

"Right," Vince said slowly. "How about you lot go have a nice sit in the sun and I'll go have a word with Jones."

The hens nodded in unison before wandering vaguely in the direction of the clover patch; their favoured spot for morning sun. Only the cockerel remained and Vince squatted down so that he was as close to the old bird's height as he could be. He liked Cockerel Jameson even if he had always been far crazier than any of the hens. In fact he seemed to have gone so mad that he'd come out the other side. He spoke and walked like a French duke and Vince always respected his opinions.

"It wasn't just the dancing and the music, mon petit chou," he clucked in a gravelly voice. "I fear he has... overindulged in la fruit interdit."

"The what now?"

Vince was sure that Jameson had only said it in French to sound more dramatic but if Jones had done something stupid he couldn't be wasting time looking up words in his French dictionary.

"The forbidden fruit," Jameson huffed. Fluttering his wings with displeasure. "He found an orange so ripe that its juice had begun to ferment and he gobbled it up."

Vince pulled a face as he tried to work it all out, his eyebrows forming a sharp V in his forehead and his tongue sneaking out to press against the corner of his mouth.

"Are you saying he got drunk off a bit of rancid orange juice?"

"Oui," the cockerel nodded. "Don't ask me how. Mice are such light weights. But you had better do something to calm him down. He has become the chestnuts, if you know what I mean?"

With that Jameson strutted off to join his hens, leaving Vince to ponder what he could possibly have meant. Remembering that he had an out of control mouse to deal with he gave his head a shake and went to track down Jones the jumping field mouse. It didn't take long. Vince had pretty sharp hearing (a necessity when one wants to engage in conversation with very small animals) and soon heard the banging of nails against a discarded tin plate. Jones was under the hen house again, high as a kite and trying to make music.

Vince thought the little guy deserved an A+ for effort but also knew that he needed to do some serious calming down. He scooped up the scruffy mouse and deposited him in the snug pocket of his apron. The poor little guy was shivering and Vince began to hum gently to the mouse until he started to relax.

"You just stay in there, Jonesy," he whispered. "And when you're feeling better we'll find you somewhere to make music where the chooks won't complain, yeah?"

The mouse looked up and gave a tiny nod before snuggling against Vince's chest to sleep. It made Vince smile and for a moment he felt warm and content - until the servant bells began to ring back in the kitchen, demanding his attention.

With a sigh and a heavy heart he trudged back to the house to begin the chore of making breakfast for his three least favourite people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry… just generally.**

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Vince gagged. It happened every morning without fail, and every midday, and most evenings too and had happened every day since he'd been forced into the kitchens to work for his evil step-family. Vince, as one of those rare people with the ability to talk to animals, could not abide the thought of eating meat and being forced to cook and prepare it turned his stomach. Adding to the horror of it was the fact that the Hitcher and his daughters lived on a diet that consisted mainly of miscellaneous-meat pies, mashed potatoes, pig livers and jellied eels.

The three bells were jangling furiously above him as he set out the three trays and Vince began to panic at the thought of what they might say or do to him if he was late with their breakfast. In his rush he failed to notice Jones, the little field mouse, clamber from his pocket, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee - and as he scooped up the three trays and made his wobbly way out of the kitchen to deliver the foul smelling food he failed to notice that Jones had become trapped inside a coffee mug. Finally, as he carefully maneuvered his way into Anthrax's boudoir he failed to notice that the scruffy little mouse was now curled up in a jittery ball in the middle of the breakfast tray.

...

"G'morning, Anthrax," he said with a smile, receiving a deep scowl in return.

"What's so good about it, Freak?"

"Um, sun's out?"

Anthrax gave him a look that made it painfully clear that he was sorely mistaken in his assessment of the day and Vince shrank away from her glare, placing the tray down on her bed gingerly.

"I abhor sunlight, you stupid boy," she spat as Vince backed quickly toward the door. "I am a creature of darkness and mystery. How dare you come into my room and try to tell me that the day is 'good' and that I should be pleased by this!"

Vince slunk out of the room as she continued to hurl abuse at him and took a steeling breath before opening the door to his other sister's room. The sooner he delivered the breakfast the sooner he could escape back to the kitchen and find himself something to eat. Then, hopefully, he would be able to avoid his sisters until lunchtime.

Ebola was already out of her bed and had arranged herself artfully in her bay window to brush out her long, white hair. She sat there on purpose, Vince knew, so that the people of the town who had to pass their street on their way to the market would see her and be transfixed by her beauty. It never worked but Ebola was yet to figure out that this was because there was no safe way for Vince to clean the outside of the second floor windows which meant that all anyone ever saw when they looked up was a clouded and grimy window in the saddest house in the land. One day, when she figured it out, there would be hell to pay, but in the meantime Vince counted it as a small victory over his oppressors.

"What do you want, Noir?" she asked in a bored tone, not once taking her eyes from her own reflection in the glass.

"G'morning, Ebola. You rang for breakfast?"

"Oh," she said, waving her hand lazily. "You can put it down over there, somewhere. I shall eat it eventually I suppose."

When Vince had set out her breakfast tray and begun to head back toward the door she finally turned her pale, milky eyes in his direction, an act which made Vince shudder.

"Your hair is looking particularly hideous today, Noir. You look quite the filthy little goblin, you know."

Vince tried not to let the hurt show as he backed out of Ebola's room but saw from the tiny smile which flitted across her face that she had seen the damage her remark had done. In so many ways she was the more frightening of the two sisters because she never raised her voice or seemed to feel any emotion and yet knew how to hurl an insult with razor precision.

Vince let the door close behind him with a shaky breath. One more tray to deliver. But, just as he did each day, he had saved the worst until last.

As he approached the large, dark wood door Vince tried not to panic. In the ten years since the Hitcher had taken control of his life he had seen unmentionable evils in that room, had been beaten and humiliated and taught the meaning of fear in that room, and each day he dreaded the moment when he had to turn the handle and enter. But the consequences for failing to deliver breakfast were infinitely worse, he had learnt that lesson too.

Just as he was preparing to knock a tremendous shriek pierced the silence, followed by the crash of crockery and what sounded decidedly like knives being flung at the wall. Vince turned to see Anthrax emerge from her room, resembling one of the demons in the books she so enjoyed, and radiating fury. Her black lace nightdress was askew, her normally pale face was a fierce red and, dangling by his tail from her fist, was the unfortunate Jones.

The mouse was in a right state and despite his fear Vince rushed forward to take the trembling rodent from its tormentor but before he could take it in his outstretched hand his step-sister hurled the small creature at his head. It was Vince's turn to shriek as the mouse landed in his hair and he dropped the Hitcher's breakfast tray as he felt the little feet scurry across his scalp and leave tangles in their wake. Anthrax let out a cackle before sweeping past him and into her father's room. Vince pulled Jones the field mouse from his hair, letting out a small sob as he felt several strands part company from his skull and held the animal to his chest to calm it. When his own beating heart had calmed enough that he could hear something other than the rage of blood pumping in his ears, Vince crept toward the open door. He could hear Anthrax's sulky tone and the gravelly chuckle of the Hitcher and he knew that things would soon be turning nasty. When he heard the rough voice of the man-witch his knees almost buckled.

"I know you're out there, boy, but I wants you in here and explaining yourself before I decide to hang your white arse from the weather vane."

Vince shuddered. He had learnt never to dismiss that man's threats and as he stepped over the threshold and into the Hitcher's lair he decided that perhaps Anthrax had been right, perhaps it wasn't such a good morning after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Re-uploading after the first attempt was just a mess of code. Hope it works this time.**

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The room was dark. It was always dark, even though it faced due east, and the dankness of it made Vince want to wretch. It had been his Father's room, the room his parents had shared in the few short years they had been together and Vince hated to see it so transformed.

"Come forward, boy," the Hitcher growled and Vince stepped toward the moulding red velvet armchair where the man-witch sat, already dressed and caressing his cane.

"You been up to some mischief, ain't you, my boy?"

Vince switched on his most charming smile. The Hitcher didn't seem particularly angry with him, perhaps, if he was careful, he could get out of this without too much damage.

"Aw, come on, sir. You can't honestly think I'd-"

"Shut your mouth."

Vince shut his mouth tight and glanced nervously at Anthrax. She smiled like a satisfied cat, her eyes glinting maliciously.

"It seems," the Hitcher crooned, giving an almost identical grin, "that someone has a bit too much time on his hands. Is that right, little noir?"

"No! I-"

"I said shut it!" the witch spat, uncurling himself from the chair and striding forward to loom over the younger man. "You think it's the nice thing to do, do ya? Playing mean pranks on your poor, little sisters? That's why we has ta keep you in the attic, boy, you know that? That's why I has to beat ya and take away all ya nice things, boy. Because you don't learn, and ya don't follow the rules."

Vince began to shake as the Hitcher pressed into his personal space and the cane dug into his hipbone.

"But I didn't-"

"Don't make me tell you again, you whelp!" the Hitcher yelled and Vince pressed his lips together and shut his eyes. "You've obviously got too much time on your hands, boy. So after I beat ya, here's what's going to happen. First you'll get me another breakfast cos I know your stubby little fingers dropped the first one; then you'll clean every firegrate in the house and scrub every floor. When you're done you can get on to cleaning the windows, and I mean every window, Vincey. I don't care if you have to climb the bleedin' bricks with ya bare hands to get to them, you will wash every single window. You hear me?"

Vince nodded quickly, still not daring to open his eyes and trying not to inhale the smell of the Hitcher's rancid breath. As if knowing guessing his disgust, the Hitcher leaned in even closer until his green nose was almost pressed to Vince's and there was no way to avoid the stench of unwashed teeth and rotting gums.

"And after _that_," he crooned maliciously. "You can head on down to the cellar and fetch up the mouse traps. I think an afternoon of setting up those beauties around the place should teach you the right lesson, ay?"

The Hitcher waited for Vince to give a stuttered, "yes, sir" before sauntering away to address his daughter.

"Now off you go back to your breakfast, Poppet. Daddy has some beating to do."

"But, Daddy-" Anthrax whined but the Hitcher overruled her.

"Now, now lass. Do as Daddy tells ya. There's a good girl."

Vince opened his eyes to see Anthrax flounce from the room and the Hitcher examine his cane. The grin that spread across the man-witch's face made Vince want to cry but he wasn't about to do that. Crying only made the Hitcher beat harder.

"You know the drill, boy," he said jovially. "Across the chair, arse in the air, twenty strokes and you're free to go. Unless ya cry out, o'course."

The Hitcher let his long, pink tongue slide over his teeth as his watched Vince cross shakily to the armchair.

"Make a noise and it's double, ain't it? But that's what makes it fun."


	6. Chapter 6

**I did a picture of The Hitcher and his daughters Anthrax and Ebola which can be seen here: ** post/91346922971/the-hitcher-with-his-two-daughters-anthrax-and

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Meanwhile, up at the palace, it so transpired that someone was making a great deal of noise. Even the guards at the outer gates could hear the yelling and were thankful that it was not part of their duties to calm down their pompous and rather melodramatic king. That particular job fell to the unfortunate duke, one Bobby-Bob Fossil of the family Nam, who was, at that moment, living up to his name as he was forced to bob and duck as the king flung priceless vases and objet d'art in his general direction.

"Stop moving, Fossil, I'm trying to take out my aggression on you, you dolt!"

"But ma Bainbridge!"

"Hold still!"

Fossil froze, though his substantial belly continued to wobble for several more seconds, and was infinitely relieved when the crown that was hurled missed him and smashed through the window. The king was not as pleased and stormed back to his throne, throwing himself into it and stroking his moustache in an attempt to calm his temper.

"D'you mind me asking what's got you so worked up, my kingly love-muffin?" Fossil simpered, edging his way across to lean with loving absurdity against the throne.

"It's my son!" the king bellowed but Fossil screwed up his face in confusion.

"Your what now?"

"My son, you moron!"

"You have a son?"

Bainbridge went to smack his hand against his face but decided to smack Fossil instead and smiled when the man went sprawling across the marble floor.

"Yes, I have a son, you baboon's backside! Howard!" Fossil's face remained pathetically blank. "Howard Moon de Bainbridge? Prince of the Realm and my sole heir?" He sighed. "Looks like a pink balloon on tweed shoulders?"

"Oh!" Fossil exclaimed, crawling back to the throne. "_Howard Moon_. I though he was the palace librarian."

The king grunted. It wasn't the first time his only son had been mistaken for a librarian and as much as he truly did care for his son, the king wished he could be just a little more outgoing and charismatic. A kingdom tended to reflect the personality of its ruler and he dreaded to think what would happen when the eccentric and magical land was ruled solely by his socially inept son.

"Um... what about your son?" Fossil prompted, flinching away from the king's scowl but gazing at him adoringly all the same.

"He's been avoiding his responsibility for too long now, Bobby. It's high time he went out and found himself someone to marry."

"But who would be dumb enough to marry Howard?"

The king shot him another look and Fossil took the hint and hit himself across the head. Still, the man had a point.

"That's the problem, isn't it? How is he ever going to find someone dumb enough when he never goes out? I'm not getting any younger, you know? And I want to know that when I die the kingdom will be in good hands. Howard needs someone who'll force him out of his library and hold his hand during public appearances and keep him from running this place into the ground!"

Fossil nodded. Howard could not be allowed to be in charge of the kingdom on his own. They'd all end up listening to Jazz fusion and painting everything beige and brown if that happened.

"Should I put out a call to the surrounding kingdoms? Round up the available princesses?"

The king scoffed.

"There isn't a princess this side of the ocean that my son hasn't alienated, Bobby," he sighed. "No, this calls for drastic action. We need to widen our pool, so to speak. I don't care if he chooses a countess or a kitchen hand, I just want him to pick someone."

"So what do we do, oh royal sexy-pants?"

"A ball," the king said decidedly. "Tonight!"

"Tonight! But sir, I have to make invitations and clear the lemurs out of the ballroom and convince the palace chef to serve something other than KitKat bars-"

"I said tonight, Fossil!"

"Tonight. RIght, of course."

"And every eligible maiden is to attend!"

"Right," Fossil nodded, scribbling illegible notes onto the back of his hand, when a thought suddenly popped into his head.

"Um, your royal sexiness? I was just wondering..."

"What is it, Bobby?"

"What if... what if Howard is... you know... more like yourself?"

Bainbridge scoffed.

"My son is about as similar to me as a pigeon is to a mighty hawk!"

"Yeah, but what if... what if he also prefers the... _love that dares not speak it's name_?"

The king blinked. It had honestly never occurred to him that perhaps his son might not want a princess at all but it made bloody good sense now that he thought about it.

"You may have actually said something sensible, Bobby," he said, patting the other man on the head and trying to ignore the pleased purring sound that the action produced. "But we can't be having a ball without maidens to dance with, so you better specify that every eligible _young person_ is to attend: men, women and variations there upon. And find a decent band to provide the music, not your usual rubbish and definitely no jazz!"

"Yes, ma Bainbridge!" Fossil nodded like a bobble-headed doll before beginning to waddle hurriedly from the room.

"Oh, when you're done, Bobby Bob," the king called after him, trying his hardest to seem nonchalant. "I'll expect you in my rooms in good time to... help me prepare. Wear the red pants, nes pas? You may go."

Bob Fossil all but skipped from the room and Bainbridge settled himself more comfortably in his throne, stroking his moustache to hide his grin. Now he just had to inform his son of his intentions. He took a deep breath, expanding his rib cage to its fullest and bellowed:

"HOWARD!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Because this story is based on my slight Disney obsession there will be another song in this chapter. Because of my slight Rolling Stones obsession, the song is "As Tears Go By", one of the first songs written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and originally sung by Marianne Faithful and later recorded by the Stones as well.**

* * *

There was so much to do and so many invitations to deliver that Bob Fossil found himself panting hard an hour later as he trudged the streets of the town, posting invites and recruiting townsfolk to help with the food and entertainment. He almost bypassed the decrepit chateau on the corner until he heard someone singing softly somewhere above him. He looked up, he eyes going wide at the strangeness and beauty of what he saw.

Up a tree, sitting astride a branch and leaning out to scrub at a filthy window, was the most beautiful creature Fossil had ever seen. His face was pale and sad but in a tragically beautiful kind of way and from his vantage point Fossil could admire his high cheekbones, glossy hair, slender waist, prominent hips and the way his thighs hugged the branch. He licked his lips and shifted around the tree until he was hidden from the road but still had a good view of the beautiful tree-dwelling window cleaner.

_"__It is the evening of the day,_

_I sit and watch the children play._

_Smiling faces I can see_

_But not for me._

_I sit and watch _

_As tears go by._

_My riches can't buy everything_

_I want to hear the children sing._

_All I hear is the sound_

_Of rain falling on the ground._

_I sit and watch _

_As tears go by._

_It is the evening of the day,_

_I sit and watch the children play._

_Doin' things I used to do_

_They think are new._

_I sit and watch _

_As tears go by..."_

As the song faded away Bob Fossil slowly brought his fingers to his lips, licked them and then rubbed them against his covered nipples in an act of appreciation. He tried to sneak away unseen but tripped over a metal pail which lodged onto his foot and sent him tumbling to the ground. The clatter startled Vince (who was of course the window cleaner) and he fell from the branch with a shout and landed directly upon Fossil.

"What were you doing, you berk!" he yelled, struggling to stand and elbowing the larger man in the ribs for good measure.

"Hey!" Fossil squealed as he floundered like an overturned turtle. "Cool it, kitten-pants! I'm not looking to get into your grubby drainpipes. I was just listening to your croonie, sing-song noise."

Vince looked down at his jeans. They were indeed covered in dust, water marks and soap smears, and now dirt from his fall. He scowled. He didn't have many pairs and didn't think he'd have time to wash these today, what with all of his extra chores. Vince hated looking grubby and he hated the man who'd scared him and made him fall on his already throbbing back, and insulted him to boot.

"Well who do you think you are? Creeping around and scaring people. What do you want?"

Fossil finally recovered himself and scrambled to his feet. He pulled the invitation from his pocket and handed it over to Vince with a wink.

"The king's holding a ball to try and find a bride for his douche of a son. He wants every eligible young thing to be there. So pass this on to your boss person, yeah?"

Vince took the invitation reverently. He'd always dreamed of going to a ball - dancing and drinking and chatting and dressing up and just enjoying himself without having to worry about messing up and being humiliated or beaten. He really just wanted a night off and he took in the expensive-looking gold script with a great deal of longing.

"Every eligible person is to attend?" he asked and Fossil leered.

"Well sure, love pickle. If you've got the right outfit, that is. There's to be no rags, ripped jeans or hats made from fruit rind. Them's the rules, now I gotta go. You go tell the clean people not to be late, you hear?"

He waddled away, the bucket still wedged on his foot, and Vince bit his lip. He desperately wanted to go to the ball. Maybe if he asked really nicely and offered to do extra chores (or whatever the Hitcher wanted really) he'd be allowed to go. He'd need some sort of nice outfit obviously, but he was sure he'd think of something.

With those hopes in mind Vince entered the house and, for once, sought out his stepfather and sisters willingly. Maybe this was his chance, to experience for just one night the life he had always dreamed of.


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own this story or the characters and even I wish I didn't do such nasty things to them. Enjoy.**

* * *

Vince stared at the door to the music room, breathing hard through his nose. He could hear the music playing within, although calling it music was a bit of a stretch of the imagination. It always made Vince confused, and rather scared, that the Hitcher and his two daughters only ever practiced the one song, and that their one and only song was about eels. He could hear them singing it now and even the thought of eels crawling up inside him made him feel ill.

Anthrax and Ebola didn't sing badly. Their voices could be harsh but they were tuneful and interesting but they couldn't play any of the instruments in the room and the Hitcher certainly couldn't play the piano that he pounded mercilessly each week. Vince would have loved to get into that room, just for a little while, so that he could learn to play music as well but it was forbidden to him, because he was not considered worthy of such a privilege.

Vince looked at the door again, and then down at the letter in his hand. He needed to go in. If he did not deliver the invitation soon he would be in trouble for not giving his sisters ample time to prepare. If he did not go in soon he would not have time to prepare his own outfit. If he did not go in soon he would definitely lose his nerve about asking to even go to the ball. And that decided it.

He took a very deep breath and knocked on the door as firmly as he dared and was rewarded with the discordant clang of barely tuned piano keys.

"Come!" the Hitcher barked and Vince opened the door carefully.

He'd had the misfortune to have opened the music room door too swiftly once and had been hit in the head by a flute thrown by someone - almost certainly Anthrax - and since then had been excessively cautious when interrupting music practice.

"What is it, boy? It better be good or I'll set the eels on you!" The Hitcher grinned manically through his white monocle and Vince felt himself begin to shake. "Would you like that, Noir? Eels wriggling all up inside, boring through your mind, through your tummy, through your anus? Can you feel 'em already, boy?"

Vince shook his head frantically and wished, not for the first time, that there was someone in his life who he could hide behind in situations like this, someone who'd hold his hand and be scared right along with him. As it was he held out the invitation with trembling fingers and allowed Anthrax to snatch it from him.

"Oh," she said in a bored tone. "It's for another ball. A masquerade at that, how droll. And it's tonight. How inconvenient."

Ebola snatched the invitation from her sister and scanned the letter quickly. Her own face remained impassive but Vince could see that she was working hard to maintain her indifference.

"The prince is looking for a bride," she said, her eyes locking with Anthrax's. "Every eligible maiden is to attend, it says. Fancy that. Go along to a party, end up a princess. That doesn't sound so terribly inconvenient."

And suddenly, after a moment of absolute silence, the room erupted with shrieks and yells as the two girls began to fight over which one of them would win the prince and claim the title.

"I'll just use a spell on him and he'll fall in love with me! He'll never know what's hit him!"

"They'll have the palace charmed, you fool. They'll know how many stupid girls will try that trick. No, he shall fall in love with my pale complexion and delicate beauty, just wait and see."

Anthrax scoffed and threw a music stand in her sister's direction.

"What? Fall in love with your pale skin and pale hair and pale eyes? Be careful you don't stand in front of any beige coloured walls or he won't see you at all!"

"At least I do not resemble a spider on a bad hair day!"

"Bad hair day! Why you-"

The Hitcher chose that moment to slam the lid of the piano down with such force that both the sisters and Vince screamed before falling silent.

"Girls, girls, girls. Don't you be worrying about outdoing each other. We'll make sure one of you snags the geezer and no mistake. What you need to be worryin' about now is getting yourselves ready to make all the other pretty maidens in the land look like they just crawled outa Monkey Hell without any miracle wax."

Ebola gave a thin smile and nodded at her father.

"You're quite right. Noir," she whipped her head in his direction and Vince flinched. "You will have all of my best garments laid out for me to choose from and there are several of my petticoats in need of repair as well. Not to mention that my boots will need shining and-"

"And you aren't to think you can ignore the need to lay out all of my things, Freak," Anthrax cut in. "And my black lace camisole has a tear - from your clumsy washing I don't doubt - which will need to be mended before you start on polishing every piece of my silver jewelry. And then there's all my skirts which need ironing."

"Yes, but..." Vince said in a small voice but his sisters weren't listening.

They continued to list the countless jobs Vince would have to complete to get them ready for their night out until the Hitcher held up his green hand for silence.

"I believe," he purred, turning his gaze on Vince, "that young Noir had something he wanted to say?"

Vince nodded again, taken aback by the fact that the Hitcher was actually letting him speak.

"Well, yeah cos, um, it actually says that every eligible young _person_ is to attend. It says both men and women are asked to be there."

"And what of it, lad?" the Hitcher leered, leaning in to invade Vince's personal space.

"Only that," Vince stuttered. "Well, that I should be there too, right? Cos I'm an eligible young person too? And not going would be, like, an offense or something? Maybe?"

"You want to go to the ball?" Anthrax scoffed, her laugher ringing cruelly through the room.

"I can just imagine it now, can't you?"

Ebola sniggered delicately before joining in.

"What will you do, Noir? Sew sequins to your apron? Try to find yourself a nice little kitchen maid to dance with?"

Anthrax cackled.

"Or maybe he's after the prince as well! Is that what you want, Noir? To be the prince's bumboy?"

The Hitcher's laugh was even more mocking than his daughters' and Vince wanted to scream but settled for speaking as calmly as he could.

"I'd just like to go out and dance. If that's alright?"

The two girls scowled deeply and were both about to speak when their father raised his hand again to shut them up.

"You want to go dancing, do ya boy?"

Vince nodded and stood as steady as he could as the Hitcher let the silence stretch out between them.

"Very well then, Vincey," he said eventually and Vince blinked at the unexpected answer. "If you finish your regular chores and the ones I assigned you this morning as part of your punishment for your naughty behaviour and the chores your sisters give you to help them get ready for the ball then you may join us. And if you can find yourself something appropriate o'course. Can't be going to a masquerade ball in your work clothes now, can you lad?"

Vince blinked again and tried to process the fact that the Hitcher, the man who had beaten him only a few hours ago for a prank he had not even pulled, was speaking so reasonably to him and actually giving him permission to go out.

"No," he stuttered. "I mean, yes. I mean, thank you, sir." Vince backed through the doorway in a daze, unsure of how to respond correctly to the unexpected kindness.

"Better hop to it then, boy!" the Hitcher bellowed and Vince jumped and scurried away to his room so quickly that he didn't hear the objections of his step-sisters or the Hitcher's reply.

"Do you know what you just said, Daddy?" Anthrax screeched, stopping short at the malevolent chuckle that he father gave as he crossed the room to hold the door open for his daughters.

"I certainly do, my dear," he told her. "I said 'if'. Now I suggest you two go and start making yourselves look like the beauties I know you are while I sit back and enjoy watching the little blighter dance. How's that?"

Vince may not have heard this, or seen the looks of smug satisfaction on those three faces, but someone did and quick as a flash Jones the field mouse was off and scrambling up to the attic room to see what he could do to make Vince's dream come true.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry about this chapter, it's clunky and doesn't go anywhere, but Howard wanted to be in the story and couldn't wait. And I have a block in my brain at the moment. Sorry.**

* * *

If you were to accidentally stumble through the doors of the palace library you might be forgiven for thinking that it was a well used and well attended-to institution. There was not a speck of dust to be seen and the cataloguing was immaculate. There was always a fresh pot of tea ready in case readers became parched while poring over the parchments (that was one of Howard's) and the large space was full of cozy corners with comfy chairs and throw rugs where bibliophiles could hide away and engage in that most glorious of pass times: reading.

It is important to note at this point that appearances can be, and often are, very deceiving and that the only visitors to the palace library did indeed end up there when they stumbled in accidentally. There was only one person in the palace who really cared about books. But this didn't stop the fresh pots of tea and gleaming mugs, or the plumped up pillows, or the helpful little information cards detailing the history of the dewey decimal system, oh no. Because Howard Moon lived in hope.

When out in public at official, royal events Howard never knew what to do with himself or how to act. He usually copied his father but hated the pompous ass he became when he did. The problem was, he hated being awkward and silent even more. And the people were always there, always staring - he didn't know what they wanted. He'd try to engage them in conversation about who they were or where they were from but would immediately realise that he wasn't interested, and that disinterest was written so blatantly on his face he may as well have had a spot light and a microphone held up to his skull, broadcasting his internal monologue of boredom and despair to the whole world.

He loved music and would try to talk to the musicians who were paid to provide background music at the countless soirees he attended but they always claimed to know no jazz whatsoever (he suspected his father had a hand in that) and when he tried to talk about it they would just nod and agree with whatever he said because he was the prince. Even when he claimed that Jazz was the only true form of music. Howard was a huge fan of Jazz to be sure but that didn't mean that he discounted the other important musical genres: rhythm and blues were pretty good too. But Howard kept trying. He knew that one day he would meet someone who wouldn't just agree with him because he was royalty, who would love him for who he was, and who he would fall in love and live happily ever after with (Howard read a lot of fairy stories, and quite a lot of romance novels too).

Prince Howard Moon de Bainbridge was desperate for someone to love but he also hated the thought of going out to find them. What he really wanted was for a ready-made soul mate to just walk through the door, but that sort of thing just didn't happen to Howard, so he stayed in his library, safe and sound where he would never be found.

At that moment the doors of the library swung open with such force that they slammed against the walls and made Howard, who had been doing a spot of spine checking, to jump in fright.

"HOWARD!"

He sighed. He knew that he couldn't really expect a close and loving relationship with his father - Bainbridge was a busy king with boar and deer and pheasants to shoot and servants to yell at and pieces of paper to sign - but he wished sometimes that he could just talk to his dad and get useful advice, like the characters in his books did. He trudged slowly toward the library doors as his father continued to bellow, resigned to hear something he'd rather not.

...

"A ball! Tonight? But why?" Howard asked in confusion after his father had announced his plans for that night's festivities.

"Because," the king barked. "You need to find yourself a woman - or a man - to marry you so that I don't have to worry about this kingdom turning into a shit storm when I die."

"Get married?! Wait... a man?" Howard's eyes darted about as his brain tried to catch up with the latest developments in his life. "I'm not gay!"

"Never said you were, ma'boy," his father responded, slapping him on the back with such force that Howard stumbled and eventually collapsed into an overstuffed armchair. "But that doesn't mean you might not consider a man to be your partner on the throne and in your bed. It's an option is all I'm saying and, all things considered, I don't think you're really in a position to be narrowing the field. You understand me?"

Howard scowled. His father was an ass but he was right and if Howard had learnt anything in his life it was that his father was always right, there was no point in arguing, and he would never be as good as his father wanted him to be.

"But I'm rubbish at parties," he whined, slumping his shoulders in defeat, shrinking further in on himself as Bainbridge stalked over and leaned in.

"You will dance and you will make conversation and by the end of the night you will have convinced someone to marry you whether you like it or not," he whispered through his moustache. "And if you do not... I will name another heir to my throne. And I will shut down this book hole and sell the paper for horse bedding."

His spin as he turned to leave was nothing short of impressive by Howard was somewhat distracted. He needed to find a wife. Tonight. And as frightening as that thought was, it came second to the thought of his books being destroyed. But how did a man like Howard Moon find a wife? This required research. And another pot of tea.


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter was written on about twenty napkins and then typed up now via my phone so I hope the formatting turns out ok. Ta.**

* * *

Vince hummed as he rifled through the antique chest. It was filled with as many items of his parents clothes as he'd been able to save from the Hitcher but, despite Vince's love of fashion and fabrics, he rarely went though it. Those garments held too many memories and normally it hurt to even think of wearing them but tonight Vince wanted to do his parents proud. They had been party people, musicians, and tonight Vince was going to go out and have fun and forget his troubles like he reckoned they'd want him to.

As he rummaged through the various vintage items he didn't notice the mice who began to sneak into his room through the hole in the skirting board. Jones had spread the word and, as they entered Vince's room - their own little safe haven in the trap-riddled chateau - each well groomed rodent donned the tiny, tailored vests and skirts Vince had sewn for them. They were never careless enough to wear the clothing outside of the attic, for fear that they would be spotted and Vince would be punished, but they loved the rare times Vince had time to play dress-ups with them.

"Ah ha!" Vince exclaimed, standing up in a flurry of fabric and settling several items onto his dress-making dummy. He smiled when he heard several squeaks of surprise and turned to his mousy audience with a cheeky grin.

"What d'ya reckon, then?" he asked and Jones cocked his head to one side, taking in the strange outfit on display.

"White jacket with a pink tutu? You sure Vincey?"

Delia mouse nodded, putting a tiny paw in the air to get Vince's attention.

"I's not really a fancy ball-type outfit, is it, Vincey. Try another?"

"Keep trying!" piped up Sue mouse, twitching her tiny pink nose. "You can do it!"

Vince pouted and looked at the clothing before him. He'd loved dressing-up in this tutu as a boy, strutting his stuff while he listened to the funk music of old, but maybe the mice were right. There was something fishy about a tutu with a dinner jacket. He carefully laid the clothes onto his bed and pulled another item from the chest, giving an extra flourish as he settled it on to the dummy.

"What about this then?" he questioned the mice as he let his hand stroke down the shiny, red leather. The feel of it gave him a little shiver and the mice crept forward reverently.

"This was my mum's," Vince whispered, brushing his fingers over the faded tag inside and the name _Joan_ written in his mother's tight script.

"Best lady guitarist in the kingdom, she was. Dad said she was the best guitarist full stop. She could pull shapes, rock the stage..." Vince's eyes turned cloudy as he thought back to the stories his father had told him each night as he drifted off to sleep, back before his life had mutated into some sort of cheap horror film.

"The whole nation mourned when she died..."

"I's beautiful," squeaked Delia.

"Like a prince," sighed Sue.

"But, but, it's old," Jones pointed out and immediately found himself on the receiving end of several mousy glares.

Vince gave a snort of laughter through his nose and smiled, standing back to better examine the jumpsuit.

"Well, maybe it is a little old fashioned," he conceded, flicking his tongue out to lick the corner of his mouth as he thought. "But I reckon it could be well trendy with the right accessories. I'll need to alter the neckline and add some fabric to the cuffs and shoulders - I'm a bit taller than mum was - and it'd be genius to have some proper boots to wear with it, but-"

"NOIR?!"

"FREAK?!"

"GET DOWN HERE, BOY, AND FINISH THESE WINDOWS!"

The yelling was so loud that several mice stripped off their tiny clothes and ran for the safety of their hole at the noise but Vince just sighed.

"Now what do they want?"

"VINCE NOIR!"

"DO MY LAUNDRY BEFORE I SKIN YOU, YOU FREAK!"

"BOY!"

Vince turned toward the voices coming through the door with such a forlorn expression hat Delia's lip began to wobble and his shoulders slumped as he retrieved his apron from its hook by the door.

"Looks like my outfit's going to have to wait a bit, huh?" he grumbled, gazing back at it longingly as he left the room to the sounds of the ever-increasing demands from his step-family.

As soon as he was gone the mice turned to each other, sharing a knowing look. Vince was nearly always cheerful, always hopeful, and always generous to them and the other animals, but they knew how much he hated his life as a servant and they wanted to do something to help him along, make him truly happy for a change.

"Vince isn't going to get his jumpsuit done, i' he?" Jones said sadly.

"Wha?" Sue squeaked, several other mince looking up in surprise.

"You see," Jones grouched. "They work him 'til his nail paint chip. No time for customising after that."

At this the mice all began to look rather sad as the truth of this statement sunk in and the two bluebirds flew down from their perch among the rafters to share the misery. Until Delia began to stamp her little foot.

"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, her tail twitching about in anger. "Stop being such a Morrissey mouse! Go eat some cheese to feel better and then we start The Plan!"

"Ooh!" whispered the mice and birds in unison before Sue asked, "What plan?"

Delia gave a toothy grin as only a mouse can.

"We shall fix up Vincey's killer outfit for the ball," she announced, to a further "Ooh" from the gathered animals.  
"Me, Sue, Diva and Dolly will get started here, while Jones goes to fetch accessories!"

"Me!" Jones squealed, clutching his tail. "But I been caught by the witch children once today already! Why me!"

Delia rolled her eyes.

"'Cos you know the rooms best," she stated, but, when she saw Jones' nervous demeanor, relented and added. "Dolly can go with you. Happy?"

Jones nodded but still looked put out as he and the rest of the mice quickly ate the cheese Vince had laid out for their lunch.

When the food was devoured they made a list of what would be needed and went to work. And, because this is a fairy tale, and they are mice engaged in housework, they sang (and because they are mice and don't understand the concept of singing something relevant to the plot, they chose to sing Get off of my Cloud, because it has a good beat and allowed them to mime guitar solos with sewing needles and other such things mice are known to do when not being observed by humans).

"I live in an apartment on the ninety-ninth floor of my block

And I sit at home looking out the window

Imagining the world has stopped

Then in flies a guy who's all dressed up like a Union Jack

And says, I've won five pounds if I have his kind of detergent pack

I said, Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Don't hang around 'cause two's a crowd

On my cloud, baby

The telephone is ringing

I say, "Hi, it's me. Who is it there on the line?"

A voice says, "Hi, hello, how are you?"

Well, I guess I'm doin' fine

He says, "It's three a.m., there's too much noise

Don't you people ever wanna go to bed?

Just 'cause you feel so good, do you have

To drive me out of my head?"

I said, Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Don't hang around 'cause two's a crowd

On my cloud baby

I was sick and tired, fed up with this

And decided to take a drive downtown

It was so very quiet and peaceful

There was nobody, not a soul around

I laid myself out, I was so tired and I started to dream

In the morning the parking tickets were just like

A flag stuck on my window screen

I said, Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Don't hang around 'cause two's a crowd

On my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Hey! You! Get off of my cloud

Don't hang around, baby, two's a crowd!"

The music quickly snapped Jones out of his funk and soon he was bopping about as he and Dolly went in search of the much needed accessories.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sort chapter because I'm putting off the moment when Vince gets upset. Sorry.**

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Through that long and disheartening day Vince was forced to scrub windows until his hands were raw, then scrub washing until they nearly bled and by the time the clock struck seven and the carriage arrived to take the family to the ball he was barely able to hold back his tears. All he'd wanted was a night out but he wasn't even allowed that.

He knocked on the Hitcher's bedroom door, willing himself to seem calm and unaffected. There was no way he wanted the Hitcher or his step sister to see his disappointment, he didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

The Hitcher barked for him to enter and he opened the door cautiously, checking to make sure that there was no ambush waiting for him before he announced that the carriage was ready waiting.

"The girls'll be another ten minutes," the man-witch growled as he adjusted his strange, white monocle in the mirror.

"But, Boy!" he exclaimed when he saw Vince's worn clothes and deflated hair. "You ain't dressed boy! Ain't you going to the ball?"

Vince could see the malicious glee in the man's grin and he fought to keep his face neutral as he gave his head a slight shake.

"No."

"Aw, what a shame," the Hitcher smirked, "but there'll be other balls, I'm sure. On days when you haven't been so disobedient and all." Isn't that so, Noir?"

Vince simply turned on his heel and headed out of the room. He should have known better, because as much as he was angry at the Hitcher for letting him believe there was a chance he might be allowed to attend the masque ball, he was also angry at himself for believing it. He walked down the corridor as calmly as he could, aware that Anthrax and Ebola had opened their doors to drink in his disappointment, but as soon as he was out of sight he ran for his room, taking the stairs two at a time and not noticing that Diva the mouse had been looking out for his approach and was running along ahead to warn her friends of their precious Vince's approach.

...

Up in the attic bedroom the mice and birds had been hard at work. Jones had scrounged for anything that looked like it could be useful, including leather trims, silky black cuffs, and black sequins that Ebola had tossed aside, sighing that they were ever so mainstream and beneath someone as deep and complicated as herself. In Anthrax's room he'd made a real find in the form of a pair of knee-high black boots. The annoying girl had been whining obscenely to her father that none of her boots were good enough for the occassion and had demonstrated her displeasure by throwing that particular pair out of the window and into the garden. It had taken Jones over an hour - with the help of the old farm dod, Bollo - to retrieve the shoes and get them up the stairs to the attic. Dolly mouse had been no help whatsoever. She was relatively new to the Chateau and spoke with a thick accent and had spent most of her time complaining that going into women's bedrooms and sorting through their things made her feel like a "par-phart!" Whatever that was. Jones had spent another hour polishing the boots until they shone whilst the other mice altered the red jumpsuit to fit their Vince.

When Diva burst through the mouse-hole and squeaked: "He's coming!" there was a moment of silence before one of the bluebirds let out a snigger.

"She means, he'll be arriving soon, you dirty tart," the other bird chirped in disgust, clipping his companion across the head with a wingtip. "You're worse than a yellow tit, you are."

"Alright!" the other squawked, "steady on. We were all thinking the same thing. And it's a bit rich, you acting all clean-minded. You're more like a blue-movie bird than a bluebird!"

As the two birds continued to squabble the mice got on with tidying away their sewing tools and setting up the outfit where Vince would be sure to see it when he came through the door. They were proud of what they had managed over the last few hours and knew that the jumpsuit would fit Vince like a second skin. He was going to be a huge hit at that ball and they couldn't wait to see his face fill with joy and excitement when he realised he had something to wear after all.


	12. Chapter 12

"When you are da clock, er,

people is, people is always

angry at you.

When you are late, they angry.

When you are early, they angry.

But when you are right on time in telling da time,

They gets angriest of all,

Like it your fault they got no time management skills.

I could teach dem time management.

I'm da clock."

* * *

At ten minutes past the hour Anthrax, Ebola and the Hitcher emerged from their rooms and made their way down the stairs to the front door and the waiting carriage. Ebola was in a dress that appeared to be made entirely out of spiderwebs and was in fact layers and layers of silk, satin and lace in various shades of white and grey. It had been weeks of hard sewing for Vince when he made it a few months ago and had been tailored to hug the woman's slender frame perfectly.

While her sister was a figure of ghostly perfection, Anthrax was dressed all in black lace and leather the image of a deadly spider in human skin. Their father wore his usual red trousers, black jacket and top hat, and the silver head of his cane gleamed in the candlelight.

They each released a gloating grin as they passed the narrow door that led to the attic but when they reached the front doors they were forced to stop at the appearance of Vince running down the stairs and calling after them.

"Wait! Oi, wait for me!"

The way the three pairs of eyes widened in horror would have been amusing but Vince was too excited to notice. He had been beyond joy when he reached his room and saw what his animal friends had done for him and had requested their help to prepare his hair and make-up and now, in a miraculous ten minutes, he was dressed and ready to party. The Hitcher had to keep his word and Vince was practically glowing with excitement.

He reached the bottom of the staircase and twirled about in his jumpsuit.

"D'you like it? It's genius, isn't it? D'you think it'll do?"

"No!" screeched Anthrax in response. "Father, he can't-"

"It wouldn't be fair," moaned Ebola, tugging on her father's coat. "He looks positively pretty!"

"He can't be allowed to wear leather and look better than me!" Anthrax yelled over her sister, pulling at the Hitcher's arm while the man-witch simply stared at the young man before him, his eyes narrowing and his lips parting in a smile that was anything but pleased to see him.

"Girls, please!" he yelled, cutting their complaints short. "After all, we did make a bargain. Ain't that right, boy? And I never go back on me word. Oh no."

He stalked slowly toward Vince, like a red-bellied snake with a mouse in its sights and Vince shrank away out of habit before forcing himself to stand straight. He was allowed to go to the ball. The Hitcher had agreed and Vince had done every job required of him. But he could not shake the feeling of foreboding.

"How very clever of you, Noir," the Hitcher continued, leaning in to Vince's space and jabbing at the sequins on his collar. "These sequins. They give it just the right touch. Don't you think so, Ebola?"

"No I don't," the sickly goth pouted before the implication of the Hitcher's comment made her turn on Vince with her mouth wide and her eyes blazing.

"Why you little thief! Those are my sequins! And my silk trims as well! As if you could ever pull off wearing something of mine, you little beast!"

She lunged forward and tore the collar of Vince's jumpsuit, ripping it away and sending sequins flying all around. Vince shrieked and stumbled in his boots, drawing Anthrax's attention to them.

"My boots! How dare you steal my boots! You filthy little Freak! Nicking things from the rubbish now, are we, Noir? You dirty haired little goblin, give them back!"

And with that she shoved Vince hard in the chest, sending him to the ground with a cry of pain. She then proceeded to pull one of the boots from Vince's foot, tearing the zip as she did so, and flung it against the wall. Ebola continued to use her long nails to rip from Vince's outfit anything that she considered hers while Anthrax took the opportunity to land a few choice kicks in Vince's ribs.

"Girls, girls!" the Hitcher cried jovially, just as Vince thought he could take it no longer. "That's quite enough, now, I'm sure. I wouldn't want you getting yourselves all upset. Not as you're off to meet the prince and all."

His grin was spread wide across his green face and he ushered his daughters through the front door with a flourish before turning to Vince and swiping his tongue over his yellow teeth.

"Don't forget to clean up this mess now, boy. I wouldn't want to have to punish you. G'night."

He shut the door with a click and suddenly Vince was alone. His outfit, the precious jumpsuit his mother had worn and loved, was destroyed; he was sore from the hard day's work, the kicks inflicted by Anthrax and that morning's thrashing; and he was cold.

Vince had never felt more hopeless in his life. He sat for so long on the floor of the front hall that the candles began to flicker and die and outside he heard the faint ramblings of the city clock, declaring that it was eight o'clock. He crawled to the kitchen door and used the frame to pull himself to his feet, shuddering as he did so. He tried not to look down at the carnage that had once been a brilliant piece of couture and stumbled down the steps to the kitchen, biting his lip to hold back the tears.

He didn't know what to do and so settled for the only thing he could think of. He made himself a cup of tea, sat down at the table and cried.

* * *

**A watercolour to accompany this chapter can be found here:**

** post/93008593826/my-poor-cinderella-vince-i-cant-remember-which**

**(I hope)**

**Ta.**


	13. Chapter 13

Vince cried until his tea went cold. He was used to disappointments, he'd had more than his fair share, but he had been so looking forward to going to the ball. It hadn't been about the Prince wanting a bride or anything like that (although he had secretly been hoping to meet some friends who weren't animals), he mostly just wanted to go out and have fun. And the Hitcher had led him on and made him believe it was a possibility. He should have known better.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing at them and smearing kohl across his cheeks then looked up and shrieked in terror when he realised that his tea cup was floating in the air in front of him. He was about to shout for help (as useless as that would have been) but swallowed it when a shadow began to materialise behind the cup and proceeded to tell him off.

"Quit making so much noise, you ballbag," the figure lisped at him as it came into focus, sitting opposite him at the table. "An' this tea's stone cold. Make us a new one?"

But Vince didn't get up to make tea. He was nailed to his chair in fear, his mouth wide open and his eyes almost person opposite him - man or woman, he couldn't quite tell - was the most exotic creature he'd ever seen. Dressed in peacock blue silk embroidered with gold thread, complete with a turban and glossy, black hair, it gazed up at him with deep, mystical brown eyes.

"Who are you?" Vince whispered, noticing that there was an overwhelming amount of dramatic tension in the air.

"Who am I?" the small creature asked, his lips tweaking slightly. "I'm Naboo. That's who."

Vince waited for a further explanation but none came and after a moment he stood up as slowly as he could and backed toward the stove, which, considering he had only one boot on, was a fairly impressive feat.

"And you want tea, yeah?"

"Ya don't need to be scared, ya pillock," Naboo scolded, the hint of a smile still tugging the corner of his lips. "I ain't gonna kill you and wear your skin as an anorak. I'm your..."

Vince was curious now but still wary. It wasn't everyday that a person materialized in his kitchen.

"You're my what?" he asked warily as he carried the fresh pot of tea and two new mugs over to the table.

Naboo sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes and Vince couldn't help but smile.

"Aw, come on, Naboo," he teased. "You can't just appear in my kitchen when I'm trying have a good cry - in private I might add - and then act all coy and mysterious. You're my what?"

Vince poured the tea and pushed the mug across the table to Naboo and after a few sips the stranger seemed to relax a bit.

"Fine. Settle in for a story, yeah? I'm only saying all this once," he lisped in his dreamy monotone and Vince hurriedly dumped the last of his sugar cubes into his tea and pulled his chair as close to the table as he comfortably could.

"Usually, when someone makes a wish, or sends out a plea to the universe, nothing happens. That sort of shit happens everyday and most of the time people are able to sort themselves out, eventually. But sometimes when someone makes a wish, they do it at a moment of intense physical and psychic distress, like when they're dying, usually when it's an unpleasant death, and sometimes that gets through to the Shaman Council and when it does," he stopped to sip his tea and roll his eyes, "_somebody_ gets assigned to the case. Which is where I come in. I'm a Shaman."

Vince felt his lip wobbling again but hid his discomfort behind his mug.

"So, what?" he croaked. "My dad made a wish?"

Naboo blinked and nodded.

"You caught on fast," he murmured. "I'd heard you were a bit dense but you went right to the money there."

Vince glared over his mug until Naboo looked sheepish and continued.

"Yeah, your dad made a dying wish that we look out for you, so... ta-da! I'm your flipping fairy godmother."

Naboo leaned back in his chair and smirked, swirling the dregs of his tea like it was all a fantastic joke but Vince couldn't join him. Vince was angry. More angry than he had ever been in his life and for once he had the opportunity to unleash it.

"Is this a joke to you? Is my whole life just an amusing anecdote? My dad's death, was that just a funny one-liner for you? 'Cos I don't get the joke! I can't see the punchline. Unless you're counting all the times the Hitcher's laid into me, and now you're saying you were supposed to be looking out for me? This is bullshit!"

Naboo didn't look particularly surprised by the outburst but the smirk slipped from his face.

"Oi," he said quietly. "I've done my job, I'm here. Don't be yelling at me."

"Done your job!" Vince shrieked, flushing at how high pitched his voice was. "What exactly did my dad wish?!"

Now Naboo looked a little less confident. He mumbled something under his breath but Vince simply pursed his lips and raised his eyebrow until Naboo finally gave him his answer.

"He asked," another sigh, "that his _'poor, sweet Vincent be protected from harm'_. But there are rules, you know! I couldn't just swoop in and fly you off to live in the forest!"

"Rules?"

Naboo gave a nod.

"I had to wait until you reached a critical point in your narrative. You cry tears of utmost despair - I turn up. That's the way it works. Not my fault if you're so naturally resilient and optimistic."

Vince gaped.

"But... I've cried loads of times," he whispered.

Naboo shrugged.

"Well this time was different."

Vince didn't know quite what to do, there was so much to take in and his brain was struggling to process it all. He slumped further down in his chair and scowled. He'd heard stories about fairy godmothers and was familiar with magic (he was pretty sure that his ability to talk to animals was magical and he knew the Hitcher used voodoo) but he hadn't ever considered that _he_ might have a fairy godmother, or that fairy godmothers could like Naboo.

"So, what now?" he grumbled, tugging at the ruined sleeve of his jumpsuit. In all the strangeness of the last few minutes he'd almost forgotten that his lovely outfit was in tatters.

"Now," Naboo said, pushing his chair back and standing at his full height of five feet and one inch.

"Now we've got to get you tarted up and off to that ball so you can party hard!"

Vince squealed in sudden delight and jumped to his feet, sweeping the small shaman into a bouncy cuddle.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Alright, alright, you batty crease," Naboo chuckled before hiding his smile in flourish of silk sleeves. "But I ain't doing the musical number, I'm telling you now. I can't hold a tune to save my life and you want yours saved, right?" VInce let out another excited squeal, "I'll take that as a yes," Naboo laughed.

He shook Vince off and walked determinedly out into the farm yard.

"Let's get this started then, shall we? Bippity boppity boo and all that shit, yeah?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the long wait. More proper action and stuff next chapter. Promise. I love a good ball scene.**

* * *

Vince pulled off his one remaining boot so he could run after Naboo into the yard where the tiny shaman had already convinced several of the animals to line up in an orderly fashion.

"I ain't doing you a pumpkin coach," he yelled and Vince stopped where he was in confusion. "They're unpredictable, shifty bastards, pumpkins. Know what I mean?"

Vince didn't but nodded his head slowly anyway because even if Naboo seemed like a good bloke he was still a bit weird, and had appeared out of thin air. That wasn't the sort of thing you wanted to forget. Naboo was an unknown quantity and the last thing Vince wanted was to be turned into a frog or someone with eternal split ends.

"What'ya need a pumpkin for?" he asked, hovering by the door as Naboo stared closely at one of the old farm dogs.

"I don't," the shaman lisped. "But if you've got a cauldron or something, I could use one of them."

Vince nodded more quickly and scurried back into the kitchen to fetch the large cooking pot, hoping that Naboo wasn't planning to do anything vile with it. It was big enough to fit a grown man inside - well, a fully grown Vince Noir - which Vince knew from unfortunate experience, and he didn't want to end up as an ingredient in some voodoo spell.

He rolled the pot out to the yard but stopped short when he saw Naboo shake out his peacock blue sleeves, mutter a few strange words followed by a puff of smoke, and suddenly four of the mice were grey mares, prancing about beautifully and already in harness. Naboo smiled for a moment before turning to Cockerel Jameson, muttering again and turning the fowl into a strutting, impeccably dressed, coachman. He turned to the dog next and Vince, his eyes saucer wide, tried to move forward for a closer look but as he did so the pot escaped and wobbled forward, like a drunk aunt at a party, picked up speed and rolled into Naboo.

The tiny shaman squawked and the puff of smoke he produced was much bigger than the others and Vince ran forward, not entirely sure what he would find. He batted away the smoke with his hand and he reached down to help Naboo to his feet but suddenly there was another hand alongside his, a large, back and hairy hand and it was Vince's turn to let out a squeal. He backed up and promptly fell of his arse.

"Ow!"

The owner of the hand backed up just as quickly and the smoke cleared to reveal a large, black gorilla.

"Well, that was unexpected," Naboo said without a hint of surprise in his voice, looking the ape up and down, but Vince couldn't see how he could stay so calm.

"What've you done to Mr Bollo!"

Naboo shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the gorilla and a grin once again tugging at his lips.

"Was gonna make him a coach driver but I reckon this'll do. What d'you think, Bollo?"

The old hound-turned-ape grunted his reply, eyes flashing unnaturally blue as he ambled over to retrieve the forgotten pot, and Vince began to back away. He could probably outrun the ape but if the thing caught him he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. And the pot, the cauldron, suddenly seemed much larger and more frightening than before.

He smiled nervously, hoping his charm hadn't deserted him at such a critical moment.

"What's the pot for, again?"

Naboo rolled his eyes and watched as Bollo began to round up the horses.

"Well, unless you want Bollo to piggy-back you to the ball, I'm gonna use it to make a coach. Now stand back, this requires proper magic."

Vince watched as the pot began to shine, its dull surface turning from black to gleaming silver as the shaman chanted and waved his arms. He wondered whether the words and hand flapping were actually useful or whether they were just window dressing, because Naboo seemed to be directing the action with his eyes, which were focused intently on the expanding cauldron. As it grew it began to change shape, gaining a door, a window, a delicate step. The handles became wheels and ancient rust marks were transformed into intricate scrollwork and within a minute Vince was standing before the most beautiful carriage he had ever seen.

Bollo hitched up the horses and swung up to the driver's seat with ease - as if he really had spent his life swinging through a jungle - and Jameson strutted over to open the carriage door, bowing deeply as he did so.

"Wow," Vince whispered. "The best thing I ever made with that pot was a chili chowder."

Naboo chuckled softly and nudged him in the direction of the waiting coach.

"Go on then. Go have fun."

"But-"

"A thank you wouldn't go amiss actually, now that you mention it."

"No, I wasn't-" Vince blushed at Naboo's affronted look. "I mean, thanks. Thank you so much for turning up and setting all this up for me but, well, I can't actually go to the ball, can I?"

Naboo scowled in confusion and Vince actually smiled at how sweet it looked before pulling himself together in order to explain.

"My outfit? It's ruined. The castaway look's not really in right now so there's no way I can show up at a royal ball with me costume all in tatters, is there? Sorry."

"Oh," Naboo deadpanned. "Is that all?"

He swung around to face Vince properly and stared deep into his eyes. It really was hypnotising, Vince realised, as he tried to look away and found that he couldn't.

"I'm not good at human fashions," Naboo droned softly. "And I don't have time for you to think about what you should wear. Look inside yourself, Vince. You're the master of new looks, a muse of fashion. Don't think, just do. Picture yourself at the ball, in the most stunning outfit you can imagine. Close your eyes and focus on it."

Vince closed his eyes and did as he was told. He saw sequins and swirls of colour and when Naboo clicked his fingers close to his face he opened his eyes, breathing hard and a little bit dizzy. For a moment he thought that Naboo had shrunk until he realised he was now wearing the most genius sliver platform boots. He beveled his ankle to get a better look and realised that the thick soles were sparkling with hundreds of tiny mirrors. He stared at the rainbow reflections in silent awe for half a minute, lost in the beauty of his new footwear until he heard Naboo's quiet chuckle.

"Glass shoes. Traditional, innit? The rest isn't bad, either."

Vince jumped, coming out of his shoe induced trance, looked down at the rest of his outfit, and immediately lost himself again. He was still wearing a jumpsuit but this one was made up entirely of black and silver sequins which shimmered as he moved and sent shards of light in every direction. Over the top he had the most genius cape he could imagine. It had a dozen panels each in a different fabric and colour, finished with impressive embroidery around the hem.

He gave a twirl and laughed with delight at the way it spun with him, the colours dancing, revealing and hiding him in equal measure.

"I'm like a walking rainbow," he murmured.

"Well you chose it," Naboo huffed but Vince just shook his head.

"Nah, this is genius, Naboo. I'm like... glam personified."

Naboo had to agree with that. Vince Noir was a creature born for parties and adoration, not scrubbing floors and folding laundry, and tonight was the night when everything would change.

"This spell ain't permanent, you know," he said as he guided Vince into the carriage. The clothes and the coach and everything will all disappear when the magic wears off."

"When'll that be?" Vince asked nervously, arranging himself on the silver seat in a way that would keep his cape from being crushed. Naboo shrugged.

"Midnight?"

"And I'll lose all of it? Even the shoes?"

Naboo sighed. Vince sounded so mournful and really, if fate wasn't such a heartless, gender non-specific bastard, Vince's life could have been much more comfortable. He could get away with it, probably. If anyone asked he'd just lie and blame it on the gorilla.

"Fine. I'll see if I can make those into permanent parts of this reality, but remember what I said, yeah?"

The carriage began to move as Bollo got impatient and spurred the horses into action and Vince babbled his thanks and his assurances that he'd been listening as he pulled a stick of kohl from somewhere and began to use the polished surface of the coach to fix his make-up. But suddenly, out of nowhere, Naboo got a bad feeling about all this. He disappeared himself in a puff of suspiciously scented smoke and went back to his flat for a cup of tea and waited for the trouble to kick off.


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry this story stalled. I've had terrible fantasy block. Back to it now though, hopefully.**

* * *

Howard stood at the end of the ballroom, bowing stiffly to each princess, prince, duchess, duke, count, countess, lord and lady that he was introduced to. As the queue at the door gradually dwindled the titles became less impressive but Howard's bow remained the same. He didn't give a toss for rank and title, he simply wanted the formal introductions to be over and done with so that he could get on with lurking in the corner and being a disappointment to his father. He'd heard the band warming up in the afternoon and, while they were better than many of the bands which had been employed for royal balls in the past, they were far from jazzy.

"The Hitcher," the head doorman announced in his overstatedly posh accent as the last family entered the ballroom. "High Voodoo priest and lord of Chateau Ferry, and his two daughters, the Ladies Anthrax and Ebola."

Howard glanced at the family, then did a double-take and looked again. He managed to keep his face fairly neutral (he thought) but it was only his many years of royal training in etiquette and decorum that allowed him to do so. The man was green and looked like the sort of nightmare creature that a child might imagine creeping in their room in the dead of night. His two daughters had more normal skin tone but that was about as far and Howard was able to complement them. They were so sour faced he almost asked them if they'd eaten lemons but didn't want to make the mistake of engaging them in any kind of conversation. They would likely take it to mean they were preferred and he really didn't want to have to come into contact with a family that gave off such an aura of malevolence.

He bowed to them all the same, feeling stiff and uncomfortable in his formalwear. Bainbridge had insisted that he wear his official uniform and Howard had felt too worn-down to argue even if the green jacket, darker green trousers and daal yellow shirt made him look more like a zoo-keeper than a prince of the realm. It would be good to change back into his comfortable chords and a nice cardigan when all this was over, unless of course, his father decided to have him thrown in the dungeons or worse, destroy his library. It wasn't a comforting thought but the idea of socialising, of actually talking to people he didn't know, and having to try and chat someone up and then marry them!

Howard felt the panic creep up through his body like ice, freezing him in place physically and mentally until he felt like the life had been choked from him. He couldn't do this, he couldn't. There was no way he would ever find a person he felt confident enough to just walk up to and talk to. He'd never even felt attracted to anyone before! How was he supposed to choose a...

A sudden flash of silver and light caught Howard's eye, dissolving the chokes and derailing his panic in one fabulous moment of glitter. At first he thought it was a trick of the light but then saw someone walking down the corridor toward the ballroom. The doorman had retired for the evening so there was no one to introduce the mysterious stranger and they slipped into the ballroom completely unseen, despite the fact that they wore a cape that Howard could only describe as hypnotising. Their mask was delicate and appeared to be made of peacock feathers, framed perfectly by glossy, black hair, but despite the confident body language the mysterious stranger was chewing on their thumbnail and glancing about nervously as if afraid they would be caught.

Howard himself glanced up to where his father, the king, sat at the balcony, surveying the scene through a spy glass while Fossil peeled grapes for him with a look of intense concentration on his face. Currently Bainbridge was using his position to appreciate the many low cut dresses and snug trousers worn by the partiers and Howard took the opportunity to cross the room to the mysterious stranger.

Nobody really noticed him as he crossed the room. The ability to blend into the background in any situation had always been a blessing and a curse, but as he drew near the stranger looked up as if sensing his presence and then, even more remarkably, smiled.

"Hey, I didn't realise it was fancy dress," the stranger joked in a deeper voice than Howard had been expecting. "What've you come as? The ghost of Fashion-don't Past?"

Howard felt himself smile and adjusted his mask so the stranger wouldn't notice the crows feet that congregated around his eyes whenever he did so.

"D'you mean to tell me that you've come dressed like _that_ and you _aren't_ in fancy dress?"

At this the stranger threw their head back and laughed and Howard stepped a little closer, noticing the silver that sparkled out where the cloak had parted.

"Shall I take your cloak for you?"

"Yeah, I suppose. D'you work here or something?"

"Well," Howard shrugged nervously. "In a manner of speaking."

The stranger grinned again and Howard felt himself stand taller in the warmth of it. Then the stranger removed the cloak and laid it in Howard's outstretched hands and he suddenly felt so much more than warm.

His mysterious new companion wore a figure hugging bodysuit made entirely of sequins along with - he blinked - platform boots decorated with hundreds of tiny mirrors. It should have looked ridiculous, and in a way it did, and yet Howard couldn't help but feel that it was exactly what this person should be wearing. They would never look right in loose slacks and a roll neck. Howard had stumbled upon something quite unique and there was no way he was going to let it get away.

He handed the cape to a passing waiter who, after a moment's indignation, recognised him and took the cape to the cloakroom, then held out his hand to the stranger.

"Shall we dance?"

The stranger grinned again (that smile that made Howard's body shiver and his bones rattle with its sheer brightness) and placed their hand delicately in his.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi. The songs mentioned in this chapter are Start Me Up, and Hot Stuff, by the Rolling Stones. If you've never heard them, stop, go, listen to them, I'll wait. You're back now? Good. Now read on.**

* * *

"They're all looking at us," Vince whispered nervously as he was swept into the middle of the ballroom.

"To be fair," his partner whispered back with a nervous smile. "Mostly they're just looking at you."

Vince smiled and ducked his head, embarrassed by the compliment. "But no one else is dancing yet," he reasoned. "Shouldn't we wait?"

The stranger simply shook his head, took Vince in his arms, and nodded to the band.  
"No waiting," he purred as the first few notes drifted over them. "Not tonight anyway. I think it's time to be a man of action."

The music started, first the guitar, then the drums and Vince bit his lip in excitement at the way the beat pulled at him. He was finally at a dance, with a cool band and an exciting dance partner and it was already as genius as he'd hoped. Then the band's front man belted into the mic and Vince decided it was time for him to be a man of action too.

It wasn't a slow dance but he was determined to dance _with_ his new-found favourite person so pushed his body flush to the other man's and let the music take him.

_"__If you start me up_

_If you start me up I'll never stop_

_If you start me up_

_If you start me up I'll never stop_

_I've been running hot_

_You got me ticking gonna blow my top_

_If you start me up_

_If you start me up I'll never stop_

_You make a grown man cry_

_Spread the oil, the gasoline_

_I walk smooth, ride in a mean, mean machine!"_

A few other couples began to dance alongside them but the majority of those in the ballroom were staring in undisguised shock at the two men as if they had never witnessed real dancing before. Vince didn't care though, he had the moves and he wasn't going to waste the night worrying what strangers thought of him. He thrust his hips from side to side and swung his head so that his hair moved like a sheet of black silk as his hands slid over his partner's shoulders to twine behind his neck. The other man wasn't much of a dancer but he could keep the beat and his hands on Vince's waist felt so solid. like an anchor stopping him from dancing out of his mind.

He grinned wide and felt a flutter in his chest when the other man smiled back. He didn't even know the guys name and he already wanted to spend the rest of his life with him as best friends, lovers, whatever, as long as they were together.

_"__...Ride like the wind at double speed_

_I'll take you places that you've never, never seen_

_Start it up_

_Love the day when we will never stop, never stop,_

_Never, never, never, never stop_

_Tough me up_

_Never stop, never stop, never stop_

_You, you, you make a grown man cry,_

_You, you make a dead man come alive_

_You, you make a dead man come..."_

As the song came to an end Vince pulled the other man into a rib squeezing hug and tried to get his breathing - and feelings - under control.

"That was genius," he whispered breathily and was glad to hear the answering murmur.

"Care to dance another?"

Vince pulled back and looked at the mysterious man before him. He was awkward and his clothes didn't seem to fit him properly even though Vince could tell they'd been professionally tailored. Behind his small mask Vince could see small brown eyes darting nervously and couldn't help but smile. The man's moustache wasn't even symmetrical. He was a shambles and definitely not cool and looked like he'd been dealt a right beating by the world. Vince knew how that felt and, truth be told, there was something ridiculously attractive about a man who existed in a state of perpetual scruffiness. Still, he didn't seem that comfortable now that they were standing there with the whole kingdom watching and the initial adrenaline rush had passed.

"You sure?"

The man looked startled by the question but the next song began and he nodded. This number was little more disco and even as Vince danced he could see that his new friend wasn't sure of what he was supposed to be doing.

"You alright?"

"Fine," came the gruff reply.

"Really? Only you look like someone's stuck a probe up you," Vince said as he raised his arms above his head and moved his body to the beat.

"Yeah?" he huffed, moving his hands in front of him like he was beating an invisible drum with a pair of very tiny drum sticks. "Well we can't all dance like a glitter snake can we?"

Vince laughed and shimmied his body all the more.

"Glitter snake?" he grinned cheekily. "That sounds genius. Just imagine it, with sequins instead of scales and a tongue like a line of glitter glue. And it'd just dance to disco all the time and annoy all the boring brown snakes who only like jazz."

"Hey, there's nothing boring about jazz," the man replied indignantly but Vince could see he was trying not to smile.

"No way!" Vince let out a dramatic groan. "Should'a guessed you were into jazz. Bet you like Weather Report and all that fusion rubbish, don't you?"

"You seem to know a bit too much about it to truly hate it, my friend."

Vince opened his mouth wide in mock horror but shut it again quickly when he saw the other man looking at him with a strange and unreadable expression.

"I'm a true music lover, ain't I?" he shrugged, looking up through his eye lashes and suddenly realising that he was flirting. "I've listened to lots of stuff, doesn't mean I like it. Everyone experiments don't they."

"Have you experimented in other things?"

Vince stopped dancing in surprise and watched as the other man's face drained of colour as he realised what he'd said.

"I didn't, I mean, I-" he stammered as a blush began to creep above his collar and take over his face. "I just meant, that is, I... I'm sorry!"

As he stumbled quickly away Vince felt his whole body deflate. Things had been going really well and he didn't understand why they couldn't have just laughed the comment off and continued with the dancing. And the flirting. He looked around the ballroom, at the people dancing and enjoying themseles. There seemed to be several disgruntled women - and men - glaring him but he couldn't think why, unless they were jealous of his boots. Finally his gaze came to rest on the singer of the band as he hung off his mic stand and shook his hips in a way that Vince recognised as the move of a true master. Suddenly their eyes locked and the man gestured with his head in the direction Howard had gone, then winked and went back to singing:

_"__I want to tell all my friends in London_

_There ain't nothing wrong with you_

_But you'd better shape up_

_Shake it up, you're hot stuff!"_

Vince nodded. When they'd met he'd felt something, something special and strange and exciting and damn frightening too, and he wasn't about to let that slip away. And if everything else fell apart and it wasn't meant to be he at least wanted to find out the guy's name.

With that Vince turned and left the dance floor in search of his mystery man, unaware that he was being watched by both a very agitated Bainbridge and a very suspicious Hitcher.


	17. Chapter 17

**My sincerest apologies. That's all I can offer you for this chapter.**

* * *

The Hitcher glared at the young mystery man as he left the ballroom in the same direction as the prince. He wasn't the only person on the room glaring after the sequin-covered beauty; everyone there had watched as the prince, socially awkward as he was, take to the dance floor with never-before-seen confidence, and dance (quite erotically) with someone that no one else in attendance recognised. The Hitcher had listened to the mutters and speculations as he circled the room, trying to solve the mystery for himself, when he overheard the words of two middle-aged women as they sat, swilling cocktails.

"I am so glad you came with me tonight, darling!" the willowy blonde gushed.

"How could I say no? Once you get this lipstick on me I'm yours, you know that," tittered her friend, a full-figured woman with a surprisingly deep, seductive voice.

"We should go and dance, Eleanor, my love, while I can still stand in these heels.

"Oh, how can I dance after witnessing the moves of that silver sequined angel? Does anyone know who he was?"

"No," the blonde shook her head and leaned in conspiratorially. "But if you ask me he looked the very image of the Lady Joan. Do you remember her? She was one of the kingdom's greatest entertainers and would entertain the king regularly with her music. It was a shame she died so young."

"I remember her," the other woman, Eleanor replied, "and I also remember she had a child, didn't she? A son? Maybe the mysterious son of Joan Jett has returned! I wouldn't mind getting me some of that action."

"You'll mind very much if the king decides you're getting in the way of the only person the prince has shown interest in since that scandal with the binoculars. I hear he's been in a rather 'Off with their heads' kind of mood lately. I wouldn't want you to get yourself in trouble."

"You're right I suppose. I'll just have to find myself someone else. A nice hunk of a man who can put the jets back in my Joan. If you know what I mean?"

The two women cackled and wandered off to the dance floor and the Hitcher grinned evilly. They were right. The strange ladyman had looked very much like Joan Jett, very much like her son, in fact. Vince would pay for this. Every pernicious parent in the room had been eyeing him off as he had rubbed himself up against the prince, wondering how he'd managed to even get the man onto the dance floor, and now the Hitcher realised that the charm of Vince Noir was even more powerful than he'd imagined. He'd tried to beat it out of the boy, to drown it in servitude and druggery but the gift of ease from his parents - the ability to beguile and delight with no malicious intent - was still his, and it seems it was growing stronger.

With a snarl that bared his yellowed teeth the Hitcher began to move purposefully toward the doorway Vince and the prince had so recently exited through. There was nothing for it. He'd just have to slit the whelp's throat and be done with it. The girls wouldn't be happy but he could hire another servant and a seamstress, even if they had to pay them. He needed to kill Vince and kill him now if either of his daughters stood a chance with that nonce of a prince.

He reached the doorway which led out onto the terraced garden, beautifully lit by stars and twinkling lights hanging in the trees. He drew his blade from within his cane and prepared to track down the ill-fated couple when he suddenly felt a hand grasp him firmly by the back of his coat.

"Where do you think you're going, love muffin?"

He was spun around to face the woman he had overheard in the ballroom and she was eyeing him up with such a hungry look in her eye the Hitcher even glanced down to make sure he hadn't somehow been turned into a baked good.

"None of your business, you slag," he spat, recovering himself and trying to shake free as she grasped his shoulders in her powerful hands.

"Oh yes!" she moaned breathily, steering him toward a dark alcove in the castle wall. "I love it when you talk dirty to me!"

"Get off me you floral-coated porpoise!" the Hitcher squirmed as he was manhandled against the wall and stripped of his coat. "Take your hands off me before I slash you up!"

"Oh yeah!" the woman, Eleanor, groaned, pressing herself against him. "Put your man-blade in my love-hole, baby! Just like that!"

The Hitcher fumbled for his knife and realised, with horror, that he had dropped it when the woman (was she a woman?) had first grabbed him. He tried to struggle but her bosom was pressed so firmly against his throat it was almost blocking off his air supply and by the time she had kissed his entire head and began to force him to his knees he had made the decision that, since he was here, he might as well enjoy himself.

Vince could wait.


	18. Chapter 18

Vince was not very good at waiting. And he had been waiting patiently, on a rather hard stone bench, for a man he didn't even know, to tell him what was wrong.

"Come on," he urged gently. "It wasn't so bad. Everyone makes a gaff every now and then. And to be honest, I quite liked the flirting. I've never flirted with anyone before, not really, and it was nice."

At this confession the man's head snapped up in surprise and Vince felt himself blush.

"But," the man said limply. "But, you're beautiful."

Vince's blush deepened and he hid his face so the other man wouldn't see how pleased he was.

"That doesn't mean I've had anyone to flirt with. My home life's not exactly peachy, you know."

"Yeah? Mine neither."

_Right,_ Vince thought, _here it is._ _He's got a rubbish family and it's totally screwed him up which is why he can't dance or flirt of talk to anyone without thinking he's a huge failure and any problem is his fault._ He nodded encouragingly and looked up at the man, making sure to make his eyes as big as he could while still looking innocent rather than just crazy.

"You want to talk about it?"

It worked. The guy (Vince was starting to think of him as Moustachio Man in his head) looked over at him with such longing and melancholy that Vince really wanted to give him a hug, even though he guessed that he wouldn't be into that sort of thing, and then sighed and nodded.

"It's my father really," he said in an apologetic tone. "It's one thing to demand that I find someone to marry, but he's spent the whole day threatening to disinherit me or behead me or destroy my books and I just don't know what to do! I'm useless at talking to people. To anyone! The only relationships I've ever had are ones in my mind!"

"What?" Vince squealed, appalled at the confession and sliding across the bench so that they're hips and knees were pressed side by side. "He's forcing you to get married? Or he'll chop your head off? That's terrible! I'll tell you, mate, you are having a shocker and no mistake. Your dad sounds like a right prick. He's as bad as the king, forcing the prince to marry and all."

"Yes, but you don't under-"

"My dad, he was genius, you'd have loved my dad," Vince rambled, starting to feel embarrassed over his outburst and desperately wanting to change the topic. "My dad used to play in a band and he toured everywhere, but then he got married again and his wife turned out to be a bloke, who was also a witch and he killed him. And now I have to work for him or he'll kill me too. We're in similar predicaments, I suppose. You and me."

Vince felt the other man go stiff beside him and glanced up nervously. The awkwardness was, if not gone, at least not so obvious on his friend's face anymore. He suddenly looked decisive and angry.

"A man-witch killed your father and is keeping you as a slave?" he asked harshly, and Vince wondered if he was about to be rejected for being a less than desirable friend.

"Yeah?"

"That's... That's illegal, Little Man."

"Is it?"

Vince felt his chest flutter at the new nickname and was confused by his desire to smile when the situation was so serious. The man, his friend, took one of his hands in his two and Vince looked in awe at how his hand - small and pale - was enveloped so entirely by the two large, yet slender hands in front of him.

"It is very illegal, Little Man. We have to tell my father, put a stop to this! I can-"

"No!" Vince jumped up, tugging the other man to his feet as well. "Look, can't it wait? Only, I've kind of got a curfew and I really, really want to dance and have some fun and maybe have a drink or two. I only came here to have a good time," his eyes fell to his sparkling boots. "And maybe to meet a new friend?"

The hands still holding his gave a squeeze and Vince raised his head to answer the gesture with a smile.

"Can't we just go back inside and have a dance for a bit? Talk about all the serious stuff later?"

"But serious stuff is important," the Moustachioed Man said so earnestly that Vince let out a snort of laughter.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "But so's dancing. And having a good night out with a mate."

He pulled the man back toward the ballroom a few steps but stopped before they re-entered the lit area.

"Can I know your name, by the way?" he asked, putting on his most charming grin, the one that always won the hens over when they were being stubborn.

"It's... it's Howard. Just Howard."

Vince nodded and saw the other man, his new friend Howard, visibly relax when he didn't question him about it.

"Nice. I'm Vince. But you can carry on calling me Little Man if you want to."

Howard moved to walk next to him, holding his hand and swinging it gently in a way that made Vince want to giggle.

"Would you like me to?" he asked. "Call you Little Man, I mean."

"Yeah, Howard," Vince replied softly as they came to the open door and the sound of the band went from a murmur to a roar. "I'd like that quite a lot. Now lets get back in there and you can show me your moves. I know you've got 'em."


	19. Chapter 19

**I should probably point out that I don't own The Mighty Boosh or The Rolling Stones or Cinderella. I know, I'm sad too. **

**Oh, and the Stones song for this chapter is Mixed Emotions. Ta ra.**

* * *

As Vince pulled him back into the ballroom Howard couldn't quite swallow the nervous feeling climbing up his throat and trying to settle on his tongue. Talking to another person had never been this easy and he had to fight the urge to hug the smaller man, an urge he'd certainly never had before. He wanted to take Vince to his father and announce that he'd found the one and that everyone else could go home now but a small, niggling voice in his head told him that he couldn't.

Vince didn't know he was the prince. In fact he probably though he was a palace footman. Also, Vince had said specifically that he wanted a friend - a mate - and as far as Howard knew friends and lovers were different categories, and he was fairly certain that the person he married was supposed to be from the lovers pile. Vince probably didn't even like men. Even if he was dressed entirely in sequins. Even if he had rubbed himself up agsinst Howard as they'd danced so that Howard could feel...

He shook his head. He was probably misreading the signals. Vince probably didn't even like him that much.

The smaller hand in his gave a tug and Howard looked up to see Vince standing in the threshold. He was smiling and when he saw he had Howard's attention he ducked his head and looked up through his lashes and Howard felt his mouth run dry. Vince's eyes, perfectly framed by his peacock blue mask, seemed to shine and dance in the light of the ballroom and in that moment Howard realised he would do anything to keep Vince by his side forever, even if it meant humiliation or losing his library. He was Vince's, heart, body, mind and soul.

"You alright?" Vince asked softly, and even though there was laughter in his voice Howard knew the other man wasn't laughing at him.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm just not used to, you know, people."

Vince nodded and tucked his body tight to Howard's and linking their arms firmly together until Howard's heart had actually returned to a regular rhythm.

"What about that Man of Action I saw earlier? Does he want to dance another dance with me?"

It was Howard's turn to nod and they entered the ballroom just as the band finished a number. Howard noticed that many of the guests were either glaring at Vince or staring at Howard in shock and he couldn't blame them. Everyone had expected an arduous evening of awkward introductions and stilted conversation as the kingdom's elite tried desperately to convince the prince that he aught to marry them. No one had expected a mysterious stranger to turn up and steal his heart.

Vince however wasn't looking at the crowd but at the band's singer and the man on stage let his lips curve into a wide and lazy smile when he saw Vince's nervous yet excited grin. He flicked his hair, yelled a word to the band, and the next song began.

Vince led him back to the middle of the dance floor, and if he noticed the fact that the other guests moved out of their way as they walked, he didn't let on. Once again Vince settled his body against Howard's so that he could feel the smaller man's fluttering heartbeat through the sequins, and feel the bulge between his legs which, Howard realised, was having an unexpected affect on his own... bulge. He held Vince tight to hide the fact of the matter from anyone who was watching and heard Vince give a gasping little shudder against his shoulder.

"Vince, I... I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up, Howard," Vince whispered breathily. "Just dance, yeah?"

_"__Button your lip baby_

_Button your coat._

_Let's go out dancing_

_Go for the throat._

_Let's bury the hatchet_

_Wipe out the past,_

_Make love together_

_Stay on the path._

_You're not the only one_

_With Mixed emotions._

_You're not the only ship_

_Adrift on this ocean."_

Howard tried to focus on the words, they were a message from Vince surely, they had to be and the thought filled him with a joy so intense it hurt. Concentrating was difficult though, with Vince so close, moving so naturally to the music, very much like a glitter snake shimmying and gyrating against Howard's suddenly oversensitive body. He couldn't cope with this much physical contact, not usually anyway. Right now he was worried that he wouldn't survive it being taken away.

"Vince..."

"You're doing fine Howard."

"I'm afraid my moves aren't that impressive."

Vince chuckled low in his throat and ran a hand through Howard's messy curls.

"They're like being caressed by natural yogurt. I like it."

Howard closed his eyes and decided that maybe he should just not focus on anything right now. Anything but the feel of Vince's warm body against his, at least.

_"__This coming and going_

_Is driving me nuts,_

_This to-ing and fro-ing_

_Is hurting my guts._

_Get off the fence now_

_You're creasing your butt._

_Life is a party_

_Let's get out and strut._

_You're not the only one_

_With Mixed emotions._

_You're not the only ship_

_Adrift on this ocean._

_You're not the only one_

_That's feeling lonesome._

_You're not the only one_

_With Mixed emotions._

_Let's grab the world_

_By the scruff of the neck_

_And drink it down deeply_

_And love it to death._

_So button your lip, baby_

_Button your coat._

_Let's go out dancing_

_Let's rock'n'roll, yeah._

_You're not the only one_

_With Mixed emotions._

_You're not the only ship_

_Adrift on this ocean._

_You're not the only one_

_That's feeling lonesome._

_You're not the only one_

_With Mixed emotions."_

As the song came to a close Howard looked up in time to see the singer blow them a kiss, which made Vince let out a breathy giggle.

"Did you know he was going to sing that song, Little Man?" he asked through his own panting breaths.

"Nah," Vince grinned turning his face back toward Howard so that their noses were mere centimeters apart. "I saw him looking but... I dunno. He's gotta be some sort of god or something for figuring us out that quick. I am definitely making a shrine to him when I get home."

"So then," Howard stammered, trying to keep to the new rhythm starting. "Emotions then?"

"Yeah," Vince said creasing his brow in thought. "Emotions. Buy me a drink and maybe we can talk about them. Maybe."

"The drinks are free," Howard offered awkwardly, but was rewarded with another sunny smile.

"Even better! You know what, Howard? This is the most genius night ever. You keep this up and your books'll be safe forever, my friend."

Howard grinned confusedly, and followed Vince to the bar and buffet. It wasn't until nearly two hours later, after they had each downed a few drinks, eaten far too many crudités and danced until Vince declared that his feet hurt too much to go on, that Howard finally realised what Vince meant.


	20. Chapter 20

"Oh, Christy! My feet are killing me!"

"You shouldn't wear such impractical shoes then, sir."

Vince laughed and leaned out over the terrace balcony, staring up at the stars and breathing deep to stop his head from spinning. He'd never experienced champagne cocktails before but he definitely liked the fizzy feeling they gave him and the way they made Howard's small eyes shine like a pair of Werther's Originals caramels.

They'd spent hours talking about absolutely nothing: making each other laugh, comparing music styles and telling stories that were obvious fabrications. It had been the most genius night of his life and Howard... Howard was genius too.

He looked over at the other man, swaying gently and smiling in a vacant sort of way, and realised that he hadn't just made a friend tonight, he'd found something much more special even than that. Because while Howard _was_ a friend, Vince also found him very attractive, and enjoyed having their bodies pressed against one another, and suddenly, really wanted to -

"Howard? Howard? Howard? Oi, Small Eyes!" Vince poked his friend impatiently in the ribs, and continued only when he knew he had the other man's full attention. This was important.

"Howard? Have you, ever, you know, kissed someone?"

A part of Vince had been sure Howard would laugh at such a ludicrous question and say 'of course he had'. Howard was older than Vince after all and probably came into contact with a lot more people, what with working at the palace, but the scowl that was suddenly stamped across Howard's features confirmed for him that the small part of his brain which suspected that Howard was not the sort of person to kiss on a whim, was correct.

"What sort of question is that?" he snapped and Vince jumped at the venom in his tone. "What is this? Have you been talking to Fossil? Did he pay you, have you set me up? Is this all some sort of joke?"

"No, Howard," Vince lifted his hands in surrender, his eyes wide in shock. "What's gotten into you? It's not a joke! Who the hell is Fossil?"

He took a step back, wobbling on his heels and swallowing over and over to try and stop his voice from going so high and squeaky. Howard looked wild in the half light, with his hair falling about his face in untidy curls, but Vince knew that no matter how agitated he got Howard wouldn't do anything to hurt him on purpose. That didn't mean he liked being yelled at though.

"Are you mocking me?" Howard sounded sad now and Vince knew that no matter where life took them or what the great lump did to him, he would never be able to stay angry at Howard.

"I'm not mocking you, ya berk," he said softly. "How could I be mocking ya when I've never been kissed either?"

Howard's tiny eyes suddenly stretched ridiculously wide and Vince had to work at keeping the laughter from bubbling out of him. But he didn't want to risk Howard going weird again, not when he knew he was so close to getting down to the matter.

"You've... never been kissed?"

Vince shook his head and took a careful step toward Howard.

"Oh," Howard sighed in a strangled pitch. "Well... you know..." his eyes darted around the garden nervously, "I hear the girls really respect that."

Vince smiled gently up at him.

"S'not really girls I'm interested in right now, Howard."

He took another step closer until their bodies were touching again, like they had on the dance floor, his sequins rustling against the rough weave of Howard's shirt. He could feel Howard's nervous breath against his cheek and closed his eyes as he fell under the other man's shadow, as his head tilted and their lips met.

Howard's lips were warm and firm and his moustache made Vince's nose twitch but he wasn't about to laugh, or pull away, and as Howard's hands drifted up to grasp his arms just above the elbow Vince leaned further into the taller man's embrace. His mind was spinning, unable to focus on a single thought, only the steady, electrifying sensation of Howard's lips against his and they stood together, perfectly still, their lips pressed together, completely unable to move.

Vince had a vague feeling that he was supposed to be doing more, but he had no idea what, and Howard was making delightful huffing noises through his nose as their lips melded together, and he simply wanted to stay just as they were forever. He slowly brought his hand up to rest gently against Howard's cheek and felt his friend's lips move slightly, settling in more deeply, connecting them so completely that Vince wondered if he might disappear altogether. That wouldn't be much fun, he decided. He'd miss his body and his clothes and Howard really wasn't a great dancer - but he looked to be shaping up to be a brilliant kisser. Kissing was genius.

Vince tried to wet his lips, which were becoming tacky and dry, but as he slipped his tongue out he realised that as well as his own lips he was also running his tongue across Howard's lips too, and felt his body shudder at the intensity of it.

Howard gasped and the kiss was broken but he leaned his forehead against Vince's, maintaining some contact as they both gulped and sighed into each other's mouths. Vince smiled, his eyes still closed, but able to picture Howard clearly never-the-less. His cheeks would be red and his hair even more mussed and his eyes glassy - just as he had been as they'd danced and their hips had ground together. Howard looked incredible when he was so undone, when his barrier against the world had been dismantled. And he was all Vince's.

He pressed his mouth forward against Howard's again, letting his lips tug gently on the taller man's bottom lip, and feeling the shiver run through both of them at such a forward action when suddenly a distant clang forced the kiss to end.

_..._

_"__Eh, hello everybody!_

_It is tomorrow now!_

_Happy tomorrow!_

_I will count it now because,_

_Eh... when you are the clock,_

_you need to count the hour or..._

_Or... nuffing, really._

_They don't pay you, when you are the clock._

_What they going to pay you in?_

_Cogs and screws?_

_Money is irrelivent when you are the clock._

_Eh, one! Two! Er... Three?_

_Four... Some other numbers..."_

...

Vince gasped.

"Shit! Midnight!"

He pulled away fromHoward, his head whipping around to face the clock and confirm that yes, it was indeed twelve o'clock.

"Howard, I've got to go," he all but sobbed, trying not to look at the other man's confused expression.

"But," Howard stuttered, holding his arms out. "But why, Vince?"

"I just have to go," Vince called, as he began to dash toward the courtyard and his magical carriage. "I'll call you Wednesday, yeah?"

"But you don't have my number!"

Vince hated that he had to leave, hated that it was midnight, and hated the desperate sadness he could hear in Howard's voice, but hated the idea that Howard would see the way he looked when the spell wore off even more. He had to go now. They'd find each other again somehow. But then Howard called after him one last time.

"Please, Little Man?"

Vince stopped dead in his tracks, swaying slightly in his tall boots, before spinning round and rushing back to Howard. He took the man's face in his hands and kissed him as fiercely as he could. Howard gasped but didn't move as Vince kissed his lips, cheek and up along his jawline before returning to his mouth one last time. He swiped his tongue against Howard's lips again, enjoying the way their two bodies both jolted as if struck with a charge of electricity.

When he pulled away Howard looked like he was in some sort of trance and it took him a moment to focus of Vince's face and his words.

"I've got to go, Howard. I'm so sorry. It's nothing you've done, I've just got to leave right now, alright? But you'll find me, yeah? You'll always find me, won't you Howard?"

And with that, Vince ran, tripping down the stairs toward his carriage as tears began to prick his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry about this chapter. It's based on a really old version of Cinderella I've got.**

* * *

Who knew running in boots was so tricky? Vince certainly hadn't and cried out as his ankle turned and he landed heavily on the stairs.

"Ow, ow, shit, shit, fuck!"

He pulled off the boots and ran on, holding them tightly in his hands. He really didn't want to lose those boots, not if they were going to be all he had to remind him of the most genius night of his life. The clock was still mumbling about whether eleven or nineteen came after ten (_...because nineteen does come after ten but not in... eh, the order. The order of preference, for counting, and the linear flow of time..._) but there was no denying that it was now at least a minute past midnight and Vince was running out of time. He could feel his outfit beginning to dissipate - the fabric was actually fizzing against his skin as the magic wore off and he really didn't want to be in a public place when it finally winked out of existence. Naboo had seemed like the sort of shaman who knew his stuff but Vince didn't want to take any chances. It would just be his luck that his jumpsuit would cease to exist and nothing would appear to replace it. And he did not want to have to walk home naked while dragging a heavy cauldron and herding a bunch of mice, a dog and a mad rooster. That would definitely be a less than satisfactory end to the evening.

He could see the carriage ahead - it was pretty hard to miss. It was pulsing brightly and Bollo, the dog-come-gorilla, was gesturing frantically for him to hurry up while the horses and footman started to glitter and spark.

He tried to run faster but the downside to taking off his boots was that his feet were taking a beating on the hard marble of the steps and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the pace much longer. Still, at least Howard wasn't following. It was better this way. He'd figure out something, sort things out, put together a genius outfit and track the guy down. It was all going to be-

And then a gong rang out from the palace behind him and Vince turned in horror.

* * *

Bainbridge stood on the upper balcony and shook with rage, his jowls wobbling as his head turned from pasty to crimson to a deep plum, his moustache bristling like a hedgehog. He'd been watching his son and his mysterious new girlfriend all evening, delighting over that fact that a creature existed who appeared to be dim enough, and short-sighted enough, to be genuinely enjoying Howard's company. He'd even begun planning the refurbishment of Howard's wing of the castle and what wise and important truth nuggets he would unleash in his speech at the wedding.

He'd been surprised when the lady-man actually kissed Howard, and even more surprised when Howard had kissed back, but had taken it as the best possible sign. The mission was complete, the night a success, and Bainbridge felt confident that this strange person his son had fallen for would not be the sort to shy away from the public eye. Everything was turning out perfectly.

Until that damned clock had struck midnight and the sequined sweetheart had run off.

But Dixon Bainbridge wasn't about to be beaten, no sir. He was a huntsman and he wasn't going to let this little deer out of his sight.

"Fossil! Send word to the guards! Tell them to close those gates and restrain that glittery minx before she escapes!"

Bob Fossil, who had been dozing on the floor by his king's feet, startled back to consciousness with a squawk and stumbled to his feet, bleary eyed. The strained buttons of his shirt had come free of their holes and Bainbridge grabbed the chest hair revealed by the wayward shirt and pulled Fossil in close, eliciting a yelp of surprise from his servant.

"Howard's floozy, whoever he or she is, is not to escape, do you hear me? I refuse to deal with a love-sick and depressed Howard! Now capture that creature!"

Fossil nodded rapidly and yelled across to the guards.

"Close the gates! Hey you, baboon's arse in a bearskin! Stop that silver love kitten from escaping or I'll come down on you like a tent full of flamingos!"

He turned back toward Bainbridge, grinning like a chipmunk on nut day, but Bainbridge snarled. It wasn't enough. The lady-man was almost at her carriage, and even if she appeared to be fizzing like a fire cracker, she looked like she was going to get away. He needed to slow her down now.

"The tar!" he bellowed, slapping his knee in a self-congratulatory manner. "Pour the emergency tar! That'll slow her down!"

"But ma' Bainbridge!" Fossil squealed. "You said that was only for emergencies! Like attacking hoards from the deep south! Or the zombie apocalypse!"

"This is an emergency, you custard cream! Now release the tar! It'll stop her in her tracks and we can pay for any damage done to her shoes. Now go!"

Fossil didn't argue a second time. He ran to the ornate rope in the throne room, the one marked "Tar Rope - Only to be used in the most dire emergencies (see Palace Policy on dealing with Zombie Apocalypse)" and pulled down hard. Far above him a deep gong sounded and the creaking of machinery signaled that the large vat of hot tar that lived above the palace was slowly tilting, soon to pour down the front steps and into the path of the mysterious runaway

* * *

As the wall of hot, bubbling, blackness poured down from the roof of the palace Vince shrieked in terror before trying to double his speed. He'd thought the king's mad emergency zombie plan was just a myth, just something Anthrax had liked to terrorize him with when he'd been younger and easier to scare, but it looked like it was true after all. And now that huge vat of tar was heading in his direction.

Vince looked down at his feet. They weren't great feet. They were knobbly from wearing shoes that were too tight and where toes had been broken, and they were a bit hairy, but they were his feet and they were important to him. He really didn't want them to get tarred. It would probably hurt. He tried to run faster but tripped and began to tumble down the last flight of stairs instead.

He hit the wheel of the carriage with a thunk and felt two large hairy arms lift him and deposit him inside.

"Rolling maybe quickest way," Bollo rumbled as he shut the door and climbed up to the reigns. "But not good for the lumbar. If Bollo retains fingers he give you massage. For now, we ride like the wind through mighty forest."

He flicked the reigns and spurred the nervous horses into action. Vince watched as they began to speed away from the palace and the tar with a feeling of deep relief until he noticed something glittery sticking out of the cooling, black sludge. He looked down at the single boot still clutched in his hand and then back at its pair, sticking forlornly out of the gunk, and sobbed. Things couldn't get worse.

At which point there was a sudden flash of light and Vince found himself sitting awkwardly inside a large cooking pot, wearing the ragged remains of his red jumpsuit which was barely staying stitched together.

"This is rubbish," he sighed, then yelped when he looked up into two brilliant blue eyes.

"Bollo carry pot if precious Vince carry mice," the gorilla said earnestly. "Then Bollo give you massage."

Vince grinned, he couldn't help it. "Genius. Thanks, Bollo."

He climbed out of the cauldron and gathered up Jones, Delia, Dolly and Sue, who squeakily told him of the strangeness of being horses before falling asleep in exhaustion, and began the trudge home.

"So... why are you still a gorilla then, Bollo?"

The ape shrugged. "Bollo not sure, but Bollo much happier as a gorilla. Much easier. Did Bollo ever tell you about Chinko?"

"No, don't believe you have, Bollo. Who's Chinko?"

"Chinko and Bollo, we grew up together in the jungle."

"Right..."

"One day, Chinko beg me to go to edge of forest..."

* * *

And together they wandered off into the night, oblivious to the fact that back at the castle an uproar had begun of epic proportions.


	22. Chapter 22

**Sorry it's been a while. Been unwell but getting better now. More to come shortly. Ta-ra.**

* * *

Vince awoke with a groan. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was full of dust-flavoured toffee. For half a minute he squinted into the dark, trying to remember why he felt so rubbish before the memory hit him between the eyes. The Ball. Howard.

He grinned, pulling his knees up under his chin and hugging his legs tight. Howard. Chatting with Howard, dancing with Howard, kissing Howard, had all been genius and Vince remembered his promise to himself last night, that he would do what he could to find Howard again, or let Howard find him. It wasn't going to be easy because if the Hitcher caught wind that Vince was trying to leave he would do anything within his power (his fairly significant voodoo power) to put an end to Vince's happiness. He was going to have to do this on the sly.

He swung his legs out of the bed but stumbled as he tried to stand up. Why was it so dark? Why hadn't the bluebirds come to wake him? Vince felt a sudden rush of panic and lurched blindly towards the window, flinging the curtains aside so roughly he managed to tear the aging fabric. He barely noticed though as he stared out at the sight before him.

"Wow," he breathed softly as he took in the pale pink of the dawn sky. "It's like sherbet."

His gaze drifted slowly over the sleepy town until it came to rest on the palace and he realised what must have woken him up. The town might be sleeping but the palace was an ants nest of activity and he could hear the sound of sledgehammers and picks chipping away at the wall of dried tar that marred the side of the usually beautiful building. Vince bit his lip as he remembered how close he'd come to being caught by the black sludge the night before. He didn't know why the stuff had been poured out, probably just an accident (everyone knew that the palace was mostly staffed by certified simpletons), but it had been way too close for Vince's comfort. He hoped Howard was alright, then remembered that Howard worked at the palace and wondered whether that made Howard a simpleton too, or whether he was the exception that proved the rule.

He laughed at that and decided he'd have to tease Howard about it when they found each other again. And it was definitely going to be _when,_ he decided, not _if_. Getting away from the Hitcher and his two horrible daughters would be tricky but Howard would find him, he was certain. Well, fairly certain. Then again, he was also fairly certain that Howard was a living incarnation of the Cowardly Lion and would need some serious help.

He watched his two bluebird friends swoop through the air toward his attic room as a strange feeling crawled into his stomach. The smile slipped from his face and his brows drew together in thought.

"Wotcher, Vince!" the first called.

"Why the sour face?" the second chirped as they came to land on the window sill. "Word from the owls is that you got a bit of action last night."

"Way to go, Vincey boy," the first bird tweeted, somehow managing to waggle his eyebrows suggestively and Vince felt a blush begin to stain his chest and work its way up his neck.

"It was just a kiss!" he squeaked, throwing his hands up.

"That's not what we heard," the birds sniggered and Vince flipped them the bird before ducking into the shower alcove.

He didn't feel much like singing today, even though part of him still felt giddy and excited thinking about Howard. Last night had been wonderful, like a wonderful dream, but today wasn't going to be easy.

The mice were gathered, bleary-eyed and yawning, when he emerged and it took them all longer than usual to put together his outfit and he trudged down to the kitchen without the usual bounce in his step. He stopped dead when he saw someone already at the stove, an apron tied around their large, hairy body, humming gruffly. He remembered to breathe as the memory of Bollo came flooding back to him and managed to smile at the image of the burly gorilla whisking eggs.

"Alright, Mr Bollo?" he asked coming to peer at the delicious smelling food bubbling away where there was usually only eels.

"Bollo alright," the gorilla nodded and gestured for Vince to take a seat at the table. "Bollo much happier as gorilla. Bollo make you breakfast. Sit, eat while I make food for ballbags upstairs."

Vince giggled, this certainly made a nice change. Until the Hitcher's bell began to ring frantically half an hour earlier than usual. He stuffed one last forkful of eggs into his mouth and grabbed the tray Bollo held out for him.

"Thanks, Bollo," he grinned. "Wish me luck."

He made his way up the stairs carefully and knocked on the Hitcher's door, hoping he'd get lucky and able to simply deliver the breakfast and leave again. Sadly, this was not his lucky morning.


	23. Chapter 23

**Warning for bad stuff. May need to put up the ****rating**** for this chapter, not sure,**

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The first thing Vince noticed upon entering the Hitcher's room was the royal missive. Well, no, the very first thing he noticed was that Anthrax and Ebola were both sitting sulkily on the bed, wiping at their tear-blotched faces while their father stalked around the room like a tiger in a cage, desperate for fresh meat. But once he noticed all of that his eyes were drawn straight to the missive clutched in the Hitcher's green fist.

Then the Hitcher noticed him and Vince felt his hands begin to tremble. The glint in the man-witch's eyes was a lesson in the meaning of malevolence, two identical storms brewing within deceptively pale skies. Vince's mouth went dry and the scrambled eggs he'd so recently enjoyed began to rise back up his throat in their own attempt to escape the harrowing stare.

"Well, well, well," the man crooned, prowling toward him as Vince backed up toward the door.

"And what have you been up to now, boy?"

"Nothing!" Vince squeaked, trying to look as innocent as he could. If the Hitcher caught wind that he was at the ball he'd be in for one hell of a beating and he was still sore from all of yesterday's exertions, not to mention his throbbing feet. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to take an extra thrashing right now.

"Not been out and about, have we?" the Hitcher probed, stepping so close that his chest pushed against the breakfast tray and forced it against Vince.

"No!"

"Not been dancing with any princes, have we?"

"No, of course not," Vince babbled, his mind swirling about in his panic. "He weren't a prince, he was just a footman or something, I swear! I wasn't getting in the way or anything, I mean-"

Vince paled as he realised his mistake. On the bed, the two sisters looked toward him with sudden interest but the Hitcher only gave a slow, yellow-toothed, grin. He took the tray from Vince's unresisting hands and threw it with a flick of his wrist. The tea pot, cup and plate smashed against the wall violently and food and hot coffee flew everywhere but the Hitcher didn't flinch, didn't so much as blink at the destruction he had caused, and Vince didn't dare move either.

"I saw you last night, Noir," he said in a low tone and Vince began to shake with sickening terror. "And I wasn't the only one, boy. You was seen by everyone, acting like a right little slag, carrying on where you shouldn't have been." He tutted and shook his head, stepping even closer, until Vince felt the man's breath against his cheek and eyelids as he gazed down.

"I didn't-" he whispered.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!" the Hitcher bellowed and Vince felt the hot slap as the man's hand whipped across his cheek. "You were seen, boy, and they set the tar on you, boy, did you know that? Because you weren't welcome."

Vince bit his lip and tried to calm his breathing but gasped as a second slap stung his other cheek.

"Where did you get the costume, boy?" another slap. "How did you even get to the palace, ay?" two slaps in quick succession and Vince tasted copper as the sharp edge of his tooth went into his lip.

"Who helped you?"

"No one," he whispered but the Hitcher merely scoffed and hit him harder.

"I will get to the bottom of this, Noir, make no mistake about that," he spat, grabbing Vince's chin and angling his face upwards so that he had no choice but to look his bully in the eye.

"A footman, was it?" the man-witched asked, grinning. "Ain't it lucky for you it was just a footman. Lucky for you it weren't someone more important, ay?"

"Howard is important," Vince said quickly, unable to keep the words in.

The Hitcher slapped him hard, but not so hard that Vince couldn't hear Ebola's shocked gasp and Anthrax whisper, "Howard?" with something close to fear in her voice. A muscle by the Hitcher's eye twitched and the next blow he dealt Vince sent him sprawling to the floor amid the broken crockery and jellied eels. He watched as the man's black boots approached him but didn't try to stand or move in any way. When the man-witch crouched down beside him he tried not to flinch but it was hard and his hair was in his eyes and blocking his vision so that he couldn't see clearly where the Hitcher was or what he might do next.

"Well now, my little Vincey boy," the Hitcher crooned in a harsh whisper. "This is what's going to happen today, d'you hear me?" Vince nodded hesitantly and received a grim chuckle in response. "Good, good. Now then, you're gonna go down stairs in a minute and make a new breakfast for me, and for your sisters. Then you're going to go upstairs to your room and you are going to stay there until I say you can come down again, d'you understand me?"

Vince frowned. Being sent to his room was hardly a punishment. He'd expected extra cleaning duties, scrubbing and polishing and mopping, any sort of physical labour. The Hitcher had never simply sent him to his room and Vince looked up in confusion. He was met with the Hitcher's grin and two green hands already holding his gleaming, black cane.

"But before all that, my lad," he said, pulling Vince roughly to his feet, "I think you need to be reminded of exactly what happens when you disobey. And I think the girls would like a go as well, wouldn't you, girls?"

As Vince was hauled to his feet and pushed in the direction of the armchair he tried not to look too closely at the looks of glee on his step-sisters' faces, or think about the pain they would so enjoy inflicting. And as the sharp cracks of the cane began to fill the room he tried desperately to think of the ball and dancing and feeling free in the music and the fairy lights in the indigo sky. And Howard.

When the girls' arms were finally too sore to continue and Vince had stumbled down and up the stairs carefully balancing their breakfast trays, he gratefully let himself be dragged up the steps to his attic room and thrown to the floor. He couldn't even crawl away when the Hitcher resumed the beating which only ended when Vince finally began to sob.

"You just think on that now, boy," he hissed, leaning down on his cane. "You stay in this room and you keep silent, you hear me? Or I'll make you regret it. I'll make you wish you'd died alongside that tone-deaf father of yours."

Vince kept his eyes shut tight as the Hitcher left the room and locked the door. Only when he could no longer hear footsteps on the creaking stairs did he begin to crawl toward his bed, throwing himself onto the covers and trying breathe rather than cry.

"You better be worth all this, Howard," he whispered desperately. "And you better find me soon or I will be really, really... cross."


	24. Chapter 24

"What do you mean, _'He shall wed the one who fits the glass shoe'_?" Howard yelled, waving the copy of the royal missive he had taken from Fossil that morning.

"It means what it says, Howard old boy," Bainbridge replied calmly, an amused smile skittering about beneath his moustache.

"But," Howard looked up at his father, wild eyed. "But it's ridiculous! It's a miscarriage of justice, a violation of decency, an, an outrage, sir! That shoe could fit any number of people!"

The king shrugged and tried to seem like he wasn't enjoying himself quite so much. he had rarely seen Howard so agitated, had never seen him so keen to argue. It was rather refreshing.

"It's actually very simple, son," he replied when Howard had yelled himself out. "There can't be many maidens in the land who fit that shoe. Bobby brought it to me and it's a work of beauty; hand crafted and fitted for one persons foot, ankle and calf. There won't be many who can wear it like a glove, don't you fret your sorry head. Besides, I'm guessing there can't be more than a handful of women who wear that size in any case," he chuckled. "It's not exactly petit."

Howard scowled and looked down at his own battered, brown, desert boots.

"He's not a woman," he mumbled as calmly as he could. "His name is Vince."

Bainbridge vaulted from his throne so quickly Howard thought he was about to get the thrashing of his life and it took him a moment to realise that his father had wrapped him in a tight hug instead.

"And this is for?" he asked nervously.

"Howard, you plum," his father laughed, pulling back from the embrace but still holding his son's arms. "It's because I am actually proud of you for once! You're standing up for something and you've made a connection with another human being! Stop acting like fancying men is a crime you prick, and get yourself out of the damned closet!"

Bainbridge was grinning at him and Howard immediately suspected a trap.

"But I'm not gay, dad," he whined. "No, sir, no gay closet for me, no sir."

The king simply waved the argument away with his hand.

"Fine, the bisexual cabinet, pansexual pantry, I don't actually mind, son. I saw that little filly of yours last night and frankly I would have been concerned if you hadn't fallen for him."

Howard blinked.

"You... you don't mind?"

Bainbridge gave him another squeeze then stepped back to look at him properly. It was difficult sometimes, having a son so much taller than himself and he wanted to address this to Howard as a whole, rather than just his nostrils.

"Howard, you could fancy men, women, or... underwater transsexuals for all I care. As long as you get someone suitable on that throne next to yours I really don't care what their sex or gender is. And if they actually fancy you, as that beguiling creature last night seemed to, well then, everybody wins!"

Howard took several deep breaths as he tried to process the information. This was as close to praise and acceptance as he'd ever had from his father and he wanted to savour it.

"Does this mean we can forget about this shoe nonsense and just track down Vince, then?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course not!" Bainbridge bellowed, laughing raucously. "This shoe business is jolly good fun and you couldn't give me a proper family name or even a description to help us find the lad so, no! We shall conduct the search my way and simply tell Bobby to try the shoe on the men as well as the women, god knows he struggles to tell the difference between them anyway. And if the shoe fits he's to make certain that their name is Vince before he brings them back to the palace. How does that sound? Good? Good! It's settled! And besides, I've already had the search declared by royal proclamation, sent out to every household in the land. You wouldn't condone such a waste of paper by canceling it now, would you, Howard?"

Howard slumped his shoulders. He knew when he was beaten, he'd experienced it often enough, but he felt hopeful too. He left the throne room with his stomach in knots and his heart aching. From what he'd learned last night, Vince didn't have a particularly pleasant home life. What if he was forbidden from trying the shoe by his step-father? What if something had happened to him last night when he'd run off into the dark, his outfit sparkling with magic like a holiday tree? There were too many 'what-ifs' for his liking, and they were leaving the execution of the plan up to Fossil of all people. He had a bad feeling about this. Last night Vince had talked of fairy godmothers and shamen coming to the rescue... Howard only wished he could believe it.


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed this story! I didn't think I'd actually see this one through but it seems to be staying afloat for now so 'yay!'. The song in this chapter is 'Miss You' and avid NMTB fans will know that somewhere on YouTube is the episode when Noel Fielding has to do this song for the Intros round and does the most adorable Jagger dance known to man. Go find it. After you've read this, obviously. Ta.**

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_"I've been holding out so long,_

_I've been sleeping all alone,_

_oh, I miss you._

_I've been hanging on the phone,_

_I've been sleeping all alone,_

_I want to kiss you._

_Oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh._

_Oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh._

_Oooh, oooh, oooh."_

"Can you shut up, you batty crease! I've got a right blinder."

Bob Fossil shut his mouth with a snap and looked down suspiciously at the tiny man dressed in blue silk walking beside him.

"Since when can you talk? I thought you was a mute?"

Naboo rolled his eyes. This whole mission was more trouble than it was worth in his opinion but he'd got a right dressing down off Saboo and Dennis and the rest of the council when he'd reported in last night. Apparently the job wasn't done until the happy ending was in the bag, so here he was, trudging through a city full of watercolour chateaus, trying to remember which one was Vince's so he could get things tied up neat enough to satisfy his anal colleagues.

"I'm not a mute, I just haven't been able to get a word in with all your caterwauling. Now can we just get on with this, please? Some of us 'ave got places to be."

"Cool your turban!" Fossil yelled loud enough to make Naboo's brain rattle in his skull. The man seemed to have no concept of volume control. "I have to follow due process in this you know. See these pieces of paper? The king gave me a list and a map, like a proper mission and I'm not going to let my Bainy baby down. So you just shut your talky talky hole and keep the shiny boot safe."

Naboo groaned. They'd been at it for hours, even though he'd tried to remind Fossil that they were looking for a young _man_ and that they knew his name and vaguely what he looked like, the idiot insisted on trying the damned boot on everyone. Naboo was beginning to wish he'd never made the thing, or promised Vince he could keep them when the rest of the magic wore off. Of course the berk had gone and lost one. And of course he'd managed to make the prince fall in love with him. It was all a huge, pathetic, romantic mess.

He trudged along, holding the boot gingerly. A thousand tiny mirrors might have been Vince's idea of genius but some of those edges were sharp, not to mention the bits of gravel still stuck to the sole where the thing had been chipped out of the tar that morning.

_"Well, I've been haunted in my sleep,_

_you've been staring in my dreams,_

_oh, I miss you._

_I've been waiting in the hall,_

_been waiting on your call,_

_when the phone rings_

_it's just some friends of mine that say-"_

"Would you shut up and read your bloody list!"

It was hard to sound intimidating when you had a soft, south Xooberonian lisp, but Naboo was so fed up he just about managed it, and it was satisfying to see Fossil jump in fright and stop strutting down the street like a possessed baboon.

"Do you even know how to read? You were just about to walk past that house like it's not even there."

Naboo gestured to the run-down chateau on the corner. Even though the windows were clean and the front step swept clear, it still had an air of neglect about it, like it had long ago been abandoned, even if people still lived inside it. It looked creepy but familiar too and Naboo wished, not for the first time, that he had a familiar - an enchanted animal who could tell him exactly what it was about the place that made his toes curl just to look at it. All he could say was that he had a bad feeling about the place but was sure a familiar would be able to tell him something more helpful. Perhaps when all of this shoe rubbish was over he'd look into it. Maybe get a bat, something small and easy to travel with.

He shook himself free from his musings when he realised that Fossil was climbing the front steps, his arse half hanging out of his trousers and his royal proclamation at the ready. He'd read it out at every house, despite the fact that every person in the kingdom had read it for themselves that morning, but it was worth it in Naboo's opinion, because Fossil read the damned thing out in a different voice every time. Fossil might annoying as hell but he was also some sort of renius. He could go from his own voice to rubbish cockney to mountain trapper to passable Spanish to snooty businessman in seconds, as long as it was loud he could do it and it was one of the only real reasons Naboo had stuck around this long.

Bobby Bob rapped on the door and made a small attempt to rearrange his clothing so that it hid most of his hairy belly and hairier backside but gave up as soon as the door swung open with an ominous creak.

"Gentlemen! Do step inside, come right this way," a gravely voice spoke from the shadows. "We've been expecting you geezers," the owner of the voice said, stepping closer so that they could see his dim outline in the gloom.

The door slammed shut behind them and Fossil yelped. Naboo didn't flinch, his years of training (and smoking) had taught him how to remain still and seemingly unimpressed no matter how much he was panicking, but right now he was panicking quite a lot.

"If you'll just step through to the parlour, I think you'll find the owner of that pretty, girly boot you've got there," the figure gestured and Naboo had no choice but to follow Fossil into the marginally brighter parlour.

The mysterious gentleman followed and Naboo took note of his green skin and unnatural eyes. They were dealing with a voodoo witch, that was obvious, but what was less obvious - to everyone except Naboo - was the very familiar mouse watching him from the rafters. He never forgot a face, well an animal's face at any rate, and he recognised that mouse. They were definitely in the right place. What sort of mess was that Vincent kid getting him into now?

Fossil cleared his throat nervously and unrolled the proclamation as two other figures emerged from the shadows. This, Naboo thought, was probably crunch time.


	26. Chapter 26

Vince woke (for the second time that day) due to a snore gone wrong. He sat forward groggily, tasting copper, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to breathe through his swollen nose and groaned as the safety of unconsciousness ebbed away from him. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers gingerly around the bruise already forming between them curtesy of the Hitcher's boot. No amount of make-up was going to cover that, he realised. He was going to look a sight and no mistake.

Falling back against his pillow Vince worked at steadying his breathing. His head was already pounding and tears would only make him feel worse. He needed to come up with a plan to escape and reach Howard but wondered if maybe he should wait a day or two. Howard had smiled at him, laughed with him, and kissed him like he felt the strange, pulling magic between them just as Vince did. Howard had called him beautiful and deep down Vince was certain that Howard did love him, just like he loved Howard but, what if... what if Howard couldn't love him when he... wasn't beautiful...

Howard had fallen in love with him when he'd been dressed in sequins and a mask and genius boots, but what could there possibly be to love now? He wasn't smart, he didn't really like reading books, he couldn't stand jazz, and now he was covered in bruises and not even remotely pretty. Howard was a footman, which was well posh, he'd probably take one look at Vince in this state and scurry away at a running skip.

Maybe he should just... give up. He'd only gone to the ball to have fun. A night out was all he'd wanted, not love or complicated emotional stuff. It would be easier in the long run to just hang his head and apologise to the Hitcher and get on with things. Howard had no way of finding him and probably wouldn't want him even if he did.

"Vincey!" Jones burst into the room through the hole in the skirting board with his fur sticking up with static and his tiny rodent eyes wide. He scrambled up the blankets onto the bed but Vince could barely give him a smile.

"VinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVincey!"

Jones climbed onto Vince's chest, his little body vibrating with energy and Vince frowned.

"Jones, have you taken something again? Your eyes are all big. Are you alright?"

The mouse just shook his head furiously and began tugging on Vince's shirt until he sat up and took the creature in his hands.

"What's the matter, Jones?"

"You have to come and hear, Vincey! Fast!"

Vince's forehead crinkled but he shuffled off the bed and down to the mouse hole where Jones was pointing all the same. Jones was always making him listen to new sounds and even as tired as he was he couldn't deny his friend. He lay flat on his belly on the dusty floor and put his face as close to the hole as he could but what he heard was not what he expected.

_"__... And in the name of the king of all the realm-"_

_"__WHAT THE 'ELL D'YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU FAT NONCE?"_

_"__Yeah, what voice is that, Bobby?"_

_"__It's my Underwater Steve voice. It's actually pretty easy, I teach it at my school, 'Bob Fossil's Underwater Voice Academy'. It's every Tuesday evening from seven pm to nine pm at the palace community centre if you wanna come along."_

_"__Think I might be busy actually."_

_"__Yeah, Tuesday seems to be a busy night for a lot of people."_

_"__Funny that."_

_"__IF YOU TWO PLUM BAGS ARE QUITE FINISHED!"_

_"__Oh, yeah, right. I got to finish reading this."_

_"__THEN HURRY UP!"_

_"__Don't get your Wotsits in a twist! Ahem! ... Now where was I?"_

_"__Just get on with it, you ballbag."_

_"__Alight, alright. In the name of the king of all the realm, His Majesty Dixon Elizabeth Bainbridge the First, it is decreed that the one whose foot fits this boot (the one Naboo's holding with all the fancy shiny bits on it) and answers to the name of Vince, shall be taken to the palace forthwith so as to be married to the sole prince and heir to the throne, Howard Moon de Bainbridge (otherwise known as 'That guy with the moustache who lives in the big paper brick room'). Is that clear? As treacle? Good. Now which one of you boys wants to try this go-go boot first?"_

Vince stopped listening.

"Howard."

It was less than a whisper. Not enough to even stir the dust but Jones heard and nodded, pulling nervously at his whiskers.

"Howard is prince, Vincey. Your Howard. He a prince!"

Vince stared at the mouse hole, each breath coming out a stuttered whimper as his brain tried to process what he'd heard. Howard was the prince.

It was actually kind of obvious he supposed, all things considered - what with the father threatening to chop of his head if he didn't get married, the well tailored suit, the nervous demeanor paired with a quiet sense of superiority, not to mention the moustache with was almost identical to the king's - and Vince felt incredibly dense for not seeing it until now. He let his head fall forward onto the wooden floor with a thunk.

"Ow."

And right now his boot was downstairs, just waiting for his foot. It wasn't just a boot though, not anymore, and not just a reminder of the best night of his life either. That boot was his key to freedom, to Howard. Surely not even the Hitcher could stop him if he'd been summoned by the king.

He looked up with new determination and climbed to his feet, brushing the worst of the dust from his jeans as he began to think for all he was worth. Jones looked up at him with a toothy grin and began to hop from foot to foot.

"What you gonna do, Vincey? You gonna go get your princey?"

"I sure am, Jones," Vince said with a flick of his hair and smile so bright it could cause heatstroke. "I think it's time to bust out of here and really _Rip this joint!_"


	27. Chapter 27

**Sorry, ridiculously short chapter cos I just couldn't get this bit to work properly. Sorry. Also, the song is Rip It Up, Rolling Stone, you know the drill.**

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_"__Mama says yes, Papa says no,_

_Make up your mind 'cause I gotta go._

_I'm gonna raise hell at the Union Hall,_

_Drive myself right over the wall._

_Rip this joint, gonna save your soul,_

_Round and round and round we go._

_Roll this joint, gonna get down low,_

_Start my starter, gonna stop the show._

_Oh yeah!"_

Vince grinned as half a dozen mice began to rip it up on the air guitar on his windowsill and bopped his head along with the tune in their heads. He knotted the last two sheets together and pulled them tight to test their strength. As plans went is wasn't the best ever created. In fact it probably wasn't in the top twenty, or forty, or eighty - but it was all Vince could think of. He carefully wrapped the end of the sheet around the leg of his bed and tied the knot like he would a side sitting silk belt, his tongue poking through his lips to lick the corner of his mouth in his concentration. He was still very stiff from that morning's beating and he really didn't want his blanket rope to fail. He'd end up with bruises on his bruises if it did.

He stood back to examine his work and heaved a sigh. Everything was done, there was no reason not to go, he just had to do it and hope for the best. He didn't understand why he wasn't already gone and yet...

This house had been his father's, had been his home for his entire life, and now he was just running away. It didn't feel right somehow but he knew he couldn't stay. He grabbed the small bundle he'd packed and walked back over to the window where the mice were still busy dancing. He was going to miss this lot as well but they'd be alright and he knew it wasn't practical to take them with him.

Jones looked up when Vince stopped at the window and hurriedly nudged the other rodents until they ceased strumming their imaginary guitars (and in Delia's case, her tail) and looked up at him with their large, dark eyes.

"Good luck, Vincey."

"Good luck!"

"Godspeed!"

"Bon voyage!"

"Go get your man, Vincey."

"Thanks, guys," Vince smiled nervously. "See you round yeah?"

Breathing roughly though his nose, he swung his leg over the window sill and tried not to look down. His hands were slippery with sweat against the sheets as he began to lower his body out against the wall. He was four floors up and even though it wasn't a particularly windy day there was a breeze at this height that made him wish he didn't have to do this but couldn't see another way out. It wasn't like he could send the mice on a mission to steal the key to his room from the Hitcher's pocket, that would be suicide. No, he had to get down this wall and leg it to the palace, and hope he could charm his way past the guards.

There was a sick niggling in his mind that he had to get there before the king carried out his threat against Howard's head but he tried not to think about it. Everything would be fine, he was nearly at the ground, only a few meters left to the ground. He could do this, he had to do this.

Vince's boots slipped unsteadily against the crumbling stone of the chateau and he swore unsteadily as he scrambled to maintain his footing as grit and pebbles tumbled down to the bushes below. His legs and arms were shaking with the tension of walking backwards down a wall and he was sweating worse than Bob Fossil during a dance off, and it took him several long minutes to steady his breathing and heart enough to even think of continuing.

"I can do this," he whispered hoarsely. "I can do-"

"IT FITS!"

The shriek from the sitting room was so loud, so sudden, and so high pitched, that the sheet slipped through Vince's fingers like custard off a spoon. His eyes widened as he realised what this meant for his immediate future, and then he fell, with a cringe-worthy crunch, into the overgrown garden beneath the sitting room window. His breathless whimpers went unheard however, as the shrieking inside the house continued.

"IT FITS! I'M GOING TO MARRY THE PRINCE! OW! MOTHER LICKING- NO, NO, IT FITS! IT'S FINE!"

Vince whimpered and looked up at the sky, trying not to breathe too hard so that his ribs wouldn't hurt quite so horribly, and wondered how things could get any worse.


	28. Chapter 28

**So, I upped the rating on the story, because of dark and nasty things that kinda happen. Once again, the events in this chapter are based on the old versions of Cinderella I read as a kid (which ****probably says a bit about me as a kid) which aren't in the Disney version.**

**And I own none of the characters and make no money, obviously. But I do promise to deliver the happy ending in good time.**

* * *

The scene in the sitting room, if Vince had been able to see in through the window, was not a pretty sight. Anthrax had been the first to try on the boot but her attempt had yielded some rather unexpected results, the most pressing being that despite the fact that she was a young woman of slightly below average height, she did in fact have rather large feet. She had struggled for nearly ten minutes but had been unable to wedge her ankle into the shoe due to the length of her toes and had eventually thrown the offending piece of footwear to the floor and stormed from the room in a rage.

Ebola had been next but her struggle with the mirrorboot had been quite the opposite of her sister's. Her foot had slipped in to the shoe without effort because her own feet and legs were so thin and delicate. She had smiled smugly at the glaring Naboo and requested to be taken to the palace immediately. That was until Bob Fossil asked her to show the boot was a perfect fit by taking a walk around the room.

She had risen from her chair without trepidation but her first step had been her last. Her foot slipped in the boot - too large for her as it was - and as she fell badly the bird-like bone of her shin snapped with a loud crack. She crumpled to the floor like a science room skeleton with its pin removed and stayed there, in a dead faint, as her father scowled. He turned away with a shake of his green head and bellowed for his other daughter to get back in the room before he came looking for her and didn't look at his stricken first born again.

Naboo removed the boot gingerly from Ebola's foot and passed it to Fossil before muttering an incantation to set the bone. It would still hurt like a motherbitch but at least she wouldn't be permanently crippled. He'd had some idea of what Vince's life had been like but being here, in this shadowy and neglected room, with a witch whose aura oozed evil, and who had just chosen to ignore the pain and need of his own offspring, made him feel genuine remorse over not stepping in to help sooner. Screw the clause about Vince needing to reach his narrative turning point and character development through hardship, the Board of Shaman should have stepped in years ago to stop the Hitcher. Instead it was just him and that boded ill, like intensely bad juju.

And then Anthrax re-entered the room, and it all got worse.

She wasn't the first to try something extreme in order to fit the description of the prince's mysterious spouse-to-be in order to be whisked off to a life of relative ease at the palace - that morning they'd had to endure too many young men and women with badly dyed black hair who had glimpsed Vince at the ball and tried to copy his look. One contender by the name of Lance had been a near dead ringer and even Naboo had needed to check his facts so he didn't make the wrong call but his foot hadn't fit the boot and he hadn't thought to change his feet. No one had until now.

Anthrax had been angrily red in the face when she'd stormed from the room but her face as she shuffled back in was deathly white and lacked any kind of expression. The only clue to what she might actually be feeling was a muscle twitching by her left eye as she attempted to walk.

The Hitcher grinned at the sight of her and pulled a small vial from his coat, handing it to her like a reward.

"Thank you, father," she whispered before pulling the stopper free and drinking the potion within. Within a minute a little colour returned to her cheeks and she walked over to take her sister's place in the chair, stepping over her sibling's unconscious form as if it weren't there at all.

"I would like to try the boot again now. I believe I tried it on the wrong foot before, very remiss of me, silly even, since it's my boot and all. But I'll be trying it again now thank you."

She spoke stonily but Naboo could hear the slight waver in her tone that betrayed her. Something wasn't right and the feeling of foreboding was growing like fuzz on cheese. Then Anthrax held up her foot toward Fossil and they were finally able to see the reason for her unsteadiness.

Fossil stared at the blood soaked sock and fainted, far less gracefully than Ebola had, but Anthrax caught the boot before it could hit the ground. She tore off the sock and Naboo's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her foot, now devoid of its toes, before she plunged it into the boot.

"IT FITS!"

The woman's face lit up like a deranged jack-o-lantern and Naboo took a few steps back she jumped to her feet and he saw an unhinged glee take over her face. Outside, beneath the window, he heard a faint thump but didn't have time to think what it could be as he tried to come up with a way to escape the sitting room.

"IT FITS! I'M GOING TO MARRY THE PRINCE! OW! MOTHER LICKING- NO, NO, IT FITS! IT'S FINE!"

She held her arms out toward Naboo as she stumbled, not to ask for help but to stop him from coming to her aid and the twitch by her eye started up again. Things had officially gone from bad to worse and Naboo pressed the jewel on his turban which would (hopefully) send a distress signal to the Board of Shaman.

A movement by the door caught his eye and he saw the large, hairy shape of Bollo peering though the opening, but as he tried to edge toward the ape he tripped over the rotund body of Fossil, who groaned as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Holy shit sauce on a tasting platter!" the chubby man screamed as he too scrambled back.

The Hitcher was grinning and chuckling darkly to himself as he watched his daughter move about the room in mismatched boots, limping like a victim in a real zombie apocalypse. She began to giggle hysterically, moving toward them now as they moved back and Naboo realised that if things had already gone from bad to worse they were about to descend into something approaching surreal horror. He pushed himself backward through the door and began to run, yelling as he did so.

"Fossil, get up to the palace as fast as you can and fetch the king and Howard. And guards. We're gonna need lots of guards I reckon. Bollo, try and keep the Hitcher and that poor girl in the house, you hear me? Don't let them leave!"

The Hitcher wasn't trying to leave - yet - but Anthrax was still lurching toward them, her eyes unfocused and near frantic from the obvious pain in her foot.

Bollo stepped forward with a grunt and Fossil took his cue, running with surprising speed to the front door and then out into the street. Naboo began back out more slowly, not wanting to take his eyes off the man-witch standing so calming amid the growing chaos.

"I got a bad feeling about this," Bollo grunted, just as Naboo reached the door. "What Naboo going to do?"

"Me?" Naboo replied quietly. "I'm going to go find Vince. Then I'm going to sort out this mess and give him the happy ending he damn well deserves."

The Hitcher just grinned.


	29. Chapter 29

**The song, if you're looking, is called Dead Flowers. It's usually sung very upbeat but is intensely sad when sung slow. Sorry this chapter's on the short side, it and the next one were going to be one chapter but together they were too long and ungainly. So, yeah, here's a snippet.**

**Oh, and thank you for the lovely reviews. I'm so glad people actually like it. Ta.**

* * *

"Vince? Vince?"

He could hear the voice and the slap of Naboo's strange shoes as he ran out of the chateau, but it sounded strange. He tried to get up but his body just wouldn't do as it was told. Vince closed his eyes and let out a harsh breath.

"Vince! Vince, you batty crease, I don't know which window's yours. Open up so I can break you out!"

Naboo's voice sounded odd when he yelled, like he wasn't made for making so much noise, almost as if he had a muffler build in to the back of his throat, a thought which made a a silly little grin creep across Vince's face. Naboo was funny, and batty crease, that was funny too.

He opened his eyes and squealed.

"Don't scream at me, you idiot!" Naboo snapped. "What are you doing lying here in the bracken anyway, I nearly tripped over you. Couldn't you hear me yelling?"

There were two smudges of pink on Naboo's otherwise pale and expressionless face, the only indication that he wasn't actually as calm as he seemed and Vince tried to concentrate on what he was being asked but there was a serious ringing in his ears that was making it tricky.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Um..." Vince mumbled. "Do I have any lines in this bit?"

Naboo blinked and pulled back look at Vince long and hard through narrowed eyes. Then he turned around to look up at the house, his gaze traveling all the way up to the attic window with the sheet rope cascading from it like Rapunzel's hair

"Did you... Did you fall out of your window?"

Vince tried to nod but it made the world turn funny colours so he stopped and tried to figure out how to make his tongue work again instead.

"I din't... fall _all_ the way," he said slowly. "I climbed some of it. Then somebody screamed."

"Yeah," Naboo nodded. "That was Anthrax. Things have gone a bit gore and horror in there to be honest. D'you think you can sit up?"

Vince tried to lift his head but stopped when a rainbow of tiny fireworks began exploding in front of his eyes.

"Apparently not."

"Shit!" Naboo swore, "We don't have time for this." He said other things too and glanced back nervously toward the front door but Vince couldn't hear them. Naboo had nice hair, all black and silky, like a curtain of night when he turned his head. It was probably really soft too, Vince thought, like flower petals or something. He'd landed in the flowers, he realised muzzily, but they hadn't been soft or broken his fall. He'd broken them. They were all dead now. And that was sad.

_"Take me down little Susie,"_ he whispered shakily,_ "take me down."_

_"I know you think you're the queen of the underground._

_And you can send me dead flowers every morning_

_Send me dead flowers by the mail_

_Send me dead flowers to my wedding_

_And I won't forget to put roses on your grave."_

Naboo turned back to him and Vince tried to pat his hair.

"Nobody's going to die, Vince," he lisped quietly. "But there will bloody well be a wedding and you're going to be in it."

Vince smiled dreamily. Naboo had a nice voice, like warm Milo at bedtime. He told Naboo so and watched as the tiny shaman fought back a smile.

"Yeah, thanks for that, but we really need to get going now. So I reckon I should do something about your concussion. It's making you talk like you're high."

Vince nodded solemnly (or tried to) as Naboo took his head in his small hands.

"I was up high," he said seriously. "Then I fell. Somebody screamed."

"I know. It was Anthrax. She managed to get her foot into your boot so she can marry the prince."

Vince sat up with a jolt, his eyes wide but his vision suddenly, almost painfully, clear.

"My boot! She can't take my boot! Her feet are a size and a half bigger than mine. She'll ruin it!" Naboo stood and pulled Vince to his feet and as he brushed the leaves and twigs from his outfit he took a moment to wonder at how Naboo had managed to take away the sharp edge to the pain in his body. The hurt was still there, he could feel it if he concentrated on it, but it was muted, as though it was all hidden under a nice, snuggly blanket, and the headache was gone completely. He smiled at the shaman in thanks but was suddenly hit with a pressing realisation and his mouth opened wide until he looked like something out of an Edvard Munch sketchbook.

"She can't marry Howard! He doesn't even know how to _talk_ to girls!"

Naboo just rolled his eyes and scanned the garden for a way out that wouldn't lead them back near the front doors.

"Good to have you back, Vince. Now how the hell are we going to get out of here?"


	30. Chapter 30

Meanwhile, far away, (Well, not _that_ far away. Not so far away that all sense of narrative probability collapses. Not _that_ far. Just far enough away that it's not a convenient distance to travel in a hurry on a rug, but not so far that you don't still feel obligated to go. That far away.) on an enchanted carpet high above the ground, an argument was in full swing.

"How in the seven levels of Hell did you end up doing field ops, Tony? Tell me how!"

"How dare you! I am an agile and specially equipped agent. You cross me, you Hendrix cosplayer, and I'll take you down."

"Oh, will you really?"

"Yes I will!"

"I highly doubt that, Tony."

"Highly! Highly! You being heightist now, you peacock? Come here, I'll have you."

"Stop it, Tony. Stop it you ballbag, you're just embarrassing both of us."

"I'm not the one with a feather in his hat like a Yankie Doodle wannabe, if you want to talk about embarrassing."

"Shut up, Tony! You're supposed to be reading the map, now where are we?"

"I... don't know."

"You don't know!?"

"You distracted me with your invasive questions about my prowess as a field agent and my penchant for travel sickness."

"Oh, by the Goddess of Cutlery! Not this again!"

"Vespers, I'm rubbish on vespers, can't get a good grip, I'm sick from the first turn. Tricycles, I'm alright on them, if i can ride in the bucket on the back but penny farthings, they're not even real, they make every one of my stomachs turn to jam."

"Well, great. Please tell me more, I am truly interested."

"Jet skis, I'm-"

"I was being sarcastic!"

"Oh. Bit rude."

"Shut up. Thanks to you, we're lost. Well done, Tony. We had one job, to come and rescue Naboo from whatever stupid little problem he managed to get himself into, and now, thanks to you, we've blown it. I can't even give you a contemptuous slow clap because we're moving so fast and this air is so cold that my hands have gone swollen and numb!"

"Deary me. Do you suffer from chillblains?"

"...Yes."

"Ooh, I am sorry to hear that. My wife suffers horribly from chillblains."

"Here we go again."

"You know what works a treat? Friar's balsam and iodine."

"Oh really. Wait, really?"

"Clears it up a treat. There's a bottle of it in my rucksack if you like."

"Thanks, Tony, that's very decent of you."

"Mmm, you're welcome. Told you I was specially equipped."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a ballsack shaped angel, congratulations. We're still lost."

"No pleasing some people."

"Well, we are. So what are you going to do about it?"

"Uh, well, we're coming up to another town, a nice pretty one too, and there's a clock tower with a clock on it... We could ask the clock maybe?"

"Oh please!"

"It's worth a shot."

"Fine! We'll ask the clock. Let's see what the _clock_ has to say."

* * *

_"__Err, when you are the clock,_

_the real clock, with the enchanted face and the, err..._

_tummy that makes the tick tock _

_You... get to meet lots of interesting people_

_Like little men in turbans and, err..._

_Pretty boys who are kissing Magnum P.I._

_But... err... none of them is as inter- inter- integer-_

_Super cool good_

_as the clock._

_Not even the big king over there._

_I'm the clock, the main clock..._

_In this story."_

* * *

"Well that was a complete waste of time!"

"Are you kidding me? He gave us information invaluable to the plot!"

"Unvaluable perhaps-"

"Oh, my lord! You did not just say that!"

"Ok, that wasn't one of my best."

"Not one of your best? That wasn't even in the top ten!"

"Alright, alright, but how can you say that asking that clock was any more helpful than my misjudged comment?"

"With ease! Not my fault you're too thick for field ops."

"I'm too thick?"

"Yes! Just you wait until it hit the action, then you'll see what a true professional looks like."

"Yeah? Well we're going to get to see that sooner than you expected, aren't you Tony! Off you go!"

"Ahh! Saboo, you slag!"

* * *

Not too far away Vince and Naboo were trying to navigate the overgrown front garden when they heard a sudden thunk, like that of a large gorilla being knocked out cold by a young woman wielding a candle stick.

"Bloody useless," Naboo muttered, carrying on through the bracken at a slightly faster pace, but Vince began to lose speed.

"What was that?"

"Exactly what it sounded like, Vince."

"But-"

"Just keep moving, Vince!"

A loud cackle followed the sound and Vince looked back at the house in horrified fascination, his eyes drawn to the sound despite fearing what he would see.

"Oh, shit," he whispered, stopping completely.

Anthrax emerged, dragging her mirror-booted leg and giggling hysterically and breathlessly. Her eyes were glassy and as she attempted to walk down the step Vince saw her chest heave as she began to hyperventilate, her face crumbling as she stumbled. He'd never seen her look so frightening in her life, and yet at the same time, something felt very wrong.

"Naboo?" he asked in a whisper, hoping his step-sister hadn't spotted them. "What did she do? How did she get my boot on? It shouldn't have fit and, well..."

Naboo sighed and took hold of Vince's arm.

"She... she chopped off her toes, Vince. Sorry."

Vince shook his head, not entirely sure why but unable to respond to that statement in words.

"Did the Hitcher make her?"

"I don't think so," Naboo said softly. "He did give her something when she came into the room though, after she'd done it. I didn't get to see what it was. Figured it was a pain tonic."

"He makes people do things," Vince whispered. "He thinks pain is funny and-"

"Quick, run!"

Naboo pulled on Vince's shirt as Anthrax looked up and saw them in the garden. She lurched toward them, a heavy candlestick swaying about in her hand but she didn't get far.

The crunch as she hit the gravel drive was sickening but it was the pitiful whimper that escaped her lips a moment later that made Vince turn and run, back toward the house. He'd never liked Anthrax, she'd been a bitchy, bratty little witch for as long as he'd known her and she'd made his life hell. But Vince Noir couldn't turn his back on a creature in distress, be it mouse, dog, horse, fox or human - even a human who had treated him badly. He walked back toward the house carefully, chewing on his lip as he watched his step-sister. She wasn't trying to get up anymore, just breathing hard and scratching at the ground, and she didn't look up when Vince knelt down beside her.

"Anthrax?" He breathed. "What's happened to you?"

He waited patiently for her to reply and after several deep breaths he got his answer.

"He beat us."

"Who did?"

"Daddy."

Vince frowned and shuffled nearer so he could hear more clearly what she was saying. As he did, Anthrax reached out and grasped his wrist, inadvertently exposing her lower back and the bruises purpling her pale skin. Vince couldn't hide his shock and as he gasped he felt the contusions on his own back twinge in pain.

"When?"

"After he finished with you," she replied. "He, he didn't want us to fail again. We always fail. I'm a failure. He said he would- I never- It's never hurt so much. And my foot was too big. Your feet are perfect. Like the rest of you. Perfect. I couldn't fail, so I..."

"Yeah, I know," Vince told her softly, rubbing her hand gently. "But I didn't know you were being bullied by him too."

"Really?" she asked, her voice turning a little sulky. "You think a person ends up this bitchy

without help?"

"Why haven't you... run away?"

Anthrax snorted and clutched Vince's wrist more tightly.

"Why haven't you?"

"Actually, I just was, so..."

"Good for you. Did it work?"

Vince sighed at the biting tone. Even when she was broken and bleeding and _trying_ to be less bitchy, she still wasn't a particularly nice person. He opened his mouth to speak but clamped his mouth shut as he realised that a shadow had fallen across them, a shadow that made his skin crawl.

"Well, well, well," came the gravelly voice over his shoulder, and he saw Anthrax twitch anxiously. "You should have run, boy," the Hitcher leered, "and you girl. Well, as for you..."

Vince could feel the grin burning down on them and Anthrax looked up, a tear finally dropping from one red eye and sliding down her cheek.

"Daddy? It hurts. Please? I can't do it. Please make it stop?"

"I dunno who you're calling 'daddy', girl. I ain't got no daughters no more. But I can certainly make it stop."

And at that the cane came down hard against the back of her head.


End file.
